


The Benefits of Pink Hair

by littlelioness77



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 55,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelioness77/pseuds/littlelioness77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his 6th year at Hogwarts, Draco has finally admitted to himself that he is gay…and content with hiding is feelings from the man he loves. But when an accident causes some room rearrangements, will Draco be able to continue to keep all his feeling hidden? (HarryxDraco)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! So this story takes place during 6th year—the war is still on-going basic character relations are pretty much the same. I'll work on updating as steadily as I possibly can—suggestion totally welcome and appreciated! I do not own Harry Potter—give the wonderful J. K. Rowling credit for all this magic!

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"For the last time I am NOT GAY!" Draco Malfoy shouted, stomping his feet and causing several fourth years to stop on their way to Herbology and gawk openly at the blonde's overdramatic tantrum.

"Easy Draco," Blaize Zabini said, smirking as his best friend whirled to face him with a look of absolute indignation on his face. "We're just stating the obvious…if we didn't do that we'd be lying to you, and that's not how friends treat friends is it?"

"Yeah Draco," Pansy Parkinson chimed in, "you even told us last year that you're—"

"I KNOW I'm gay," Draco said dramatically rolling his eyes, as if his friends were missing some key element of this conversation, "but there is no way that I am in any way flamboyant."

This time, Blaize was unable to hold back his mirth and began openly laughing as Pansy unsuccessfully attempted to kick him in the shins. "Really, you're not flamboyant?" He choked out finally. "I'm sorry Draco but you refuse to wear any article of clothing that doesn't accent your eyes or your figure, you spend at least two hours every morning on your hair, and you give more fashion advice to me than Pansy does…or my mother," he added as an afterthought. "Face it, you're a flamer."

Draco huffed indignantly and positioned his face into the loftiest expression he could muster. "Well, don't expect me to help you next time you decide to wear soot-grey. Doesn't everyone know that his year's grey is obviously charcoal?" Suddenly, the blonde's eyes snapped open in shock as he looked about him in horror. "Oh fuck I am a flamer!"

"Oh Draco, it's okay," Pansy said, giving her friend a quick squeeze. "You're fabulous just the way you are, and beside," she said throwing Blaize a mischievous glance, I'm sure Harry would love to have a femme like you around."

Draco spluttered, horrified that she had mentioned that in such a public place. "I—it's not—that's irrelevant…"

Pansy smiled and patted his arm sympathetically. "Please love, if it wasn't obvious enough that you're gay, it was even more apparent that you fancy Harry. I mean, you've been obsessed with getting his attention since first year. Now we're sixth years and the only thing that's changed is that Harry finally dumped the Weasley girl and told her that he didn't swing that way. So, logically, you have more of chance now that he's officially out of the closet." Winking at the stunned blonde, she turned to Blaize and asked if he was ready to head down to dinner.

"See you down there," Blaize smirked as he took Pansy's hand and began making the way towards the Great Hall's entrance. "But don't worry Draco…you were born this way baby!"

Draco was about to make a retort about how Blaize was lucky to have a fashion-savvy friend like him, but before he could open his mouth (let alone figure out what he wanted to say) her heard a sharp voice calling "Malfoy!" across the entrance hall. Looking around, he made his way toward Professor McGonagall, wondering what on earth he was supposed to have done this time.

"Professor Dumbledore would like a word with you in his study before you join your classmates," she told him crisply, eying him as if she expected to find some trace of something on his face. "And don't look so nervous Malfoy, it's not like you've done anything wrong!"

Still utterly confused, Draco turned and made his way back up the grand staircase towards the Headmaster's office. As he walked, Draco couldn't help but think about what Pansy had said. Yes, rumors had been flying that Potter had dumped the Weasly girl about a week ago. They were no longer seen holding hands in the hallways or studying together in the library. In fact, Ginny has been in tears every time Draco had seen her the last few days and, it has been said that the reason Harry broke it off was because he finally came out about his sexuality. When Draco first heard, he had been hesitant to believe it. What were the chances that the man he'd fancied for six years would also end up being gay…? Did orphan heroes just come out as being bent every other day? But over the past week, the story seemed to honestly prove true as Harry could be overhead telling a gaggle of interested third years that, no, he had not be unsatisfied with his old girlfriend, he honestly just wasn't interested in women, period. Before Draco could ponder any further about what this development meant, he had reached the door to Dumbledore's study and, as he raised his fist to knock, heard a pleasant "Come in Mr. Malfoy."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Dumbledore began as Draco took his seat opposite the headmaster's desk, "but this morning one of your dorm mates was in an experimental accident. Gregory Goyle seemed to be trying to find a way to change his hair color and instead, created some sort of contagious virus."

Draco stared, dumbstruck. He knew Goyle was stupid but to mess up a hair-coloring potion that badly was cause for serious concern.

"Thankfully," Dumbledore continued, interrupting Draco's thoughts, "we have quarantined your dormitory but, until further notice, you and your housemates are all going to have to stay in with members of other houses. We have managed to salvage your possessions, but it is too dangerous to allow any students to stay in the Slytherin Common Room. You are to move immediately to your new quarters and remain there until further notice. As for Mr. Goyle, he has been taken to St. Mungos and is currently undergoing an evaluation. We are hoping he makes a full recovery…and that his hair will no longer be bubblegum pink."

By this point, Draco's mouth was hanging open. He had a very specific system for keeping his area of the dormitory organized and in properly preparing himself each and every morning. Moving to an entirely new environment with bumbling idiots who wouldn't have the first clue as to why Draco needed to use that bathroom at precisely six-o-clock (he had enough time to style his hair in a way that was mussed in a somewhat sexy manner, yet still had an appearance of being under his control) or how protective he was of his hair products and the specific order they had to stay in. The only thing that could possibly make this worse would be if…

"Oh, and before I forget," said Dumbledore, smiling knowingly at the blonde Slytherin, "you will be in the Gryffindor boys dormitory, right next to…" he checked his notes, "Mr. Potter."

"WHAT, but Professor, I...I can't room with Potter! It's…I mean I….it's just that…"

"Now Draco," Dumbledore said sternly, trying to hide the smile that was twitching on his lips, "this is a perfect opportunity to promote house unity..."

Draco tried to avoid rolling his eyes."

"And Mr. Potter is certainly much more chivalrous than you give him credit for. I am sure that the two of you will manage a…civil relationship until this situation can be resolved. Unless you feel you are unable to handle your new quarters and I would be more than happy to ask Hagrid to make some space for you to camp near the Forbidden Forest. It's not quite cold enough yet that you should be uncomfortable camping out." His blue eyes twinkled obnoxiously as Draco balked in horror at the possibility of sleeping so close to sniffing thestrals and hungry werewolves.

"No Professor, that won't be necessary. I can make do." He answered hurriedly, standing up and backing towards the door before the headmaster could make his idea a permanent set-up.

"Very well," replied Dumbledore in that infuriatingly calm manner of his, "off you go to dinner Mr. Malfoy. And Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore called after him as Draco was about to close the door behind him, "I find that in certain situations regarding how I feel about...someone or…something…that honesty usually serves me best."

Unsure of how to respond, Draco merely nodded and quickly shut the door behind him. "Crazy old man," he muttered as he took the stairs back to the main part of the school two at a time, "I don't care what anyone else says, there are definitely a few screws missing up there." Deciding to put the Headmaster's nonsense out of his head, Draco focused on the issue at hand—living in close quarters with none other than the Wizarding World's Golden Boy, Harry Fucking Potter. How was he supposed to function without getting himself into a situation he couldn't back out of?

As Draco rounded the last turn on his way to the top of the main entrance staircase, he settled on doing what Malfoys did best: acting as if he belonged in the Gryffindor common room and giving anyone who gave him trouble a piece of his mind. If he played his cards the rights way, he may never have to acknowledge Potter's existence anymore than Longbottom's or Weasley's. He could make this work. He was, after all, a Malfoy. And, if nothing else, Malfoy's excelled at hiding their feelings. Draco finally entered the Great Hall and made his way over to the Slytherin table, where Blaize and Pansy were waving to him and motioning to an empty seat. As he made his way to sit with them, Draco couldn't help but feel as if someone's eyes were carefully following his every move. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Potter looking at him with a mixture of emotions Draco couldn't place. Pensiveness? Confusion? As Harry realized that he had been caught watching the Slytherin, the Gryffindor jumped and hurriedly went back to his steak and potatoes, shaking his head and muttering a response to a question Granger just asked him. By this point in time, Draco reached his seat at the Slytherin table and slid in across from Blaize and Pansy. From the look on their faces, he wouldn't be able to eat in peace without telling them what Dumbledore had wanted to say to him. He sighed and stabbed a baked potato with a little more violence than was necessary. Blaize was never going to let him live this down…

Hey! So, comments, suggestions, wanna send some love, let me know what you think as I keep updating! Hearing from you would mean so much to me! Lots of love 3


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two here I come! Hope you enjoy! As per usual, I don't own the magic of Harry Potter…I only wish I did :D

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"…so I told him that I bloody well wouldn't be letting him date my sister if he was the next seeker for the Chuddley Cannons! Can you believe the nerve of that git, Harry? Harry…you listening to me mate?"

Startled back to reality, Harry was jolted from his inner thoughts and brought face-to-face with another story of how Ron saved Ginny from her next potential boyfriend. Ever since they had broken up, Ron had not only been in a particularly good mood, but had taken every opportunity to tell Harry (and anyone else who would listen) about how he had successfully reduced no less than ten interested suitors to quivering masses of embarrassment on the floor. Privately Harry felt that Ron was hoping to keep his sister single for as long as humanly possible, but, what could he say? Ginny got around. Ron was probably so supportive of Harry's coming out because it meant that he would no longer have to picture Harry snogging his sister whenever they went anywhere without him. Just as Harry was about to create some ridiculously vague reply that would most likely convince Ron he had been hanging on to his every word, Hermione rushed through the portrait hole and completely changed the flow of conversation.

"Hermione," Ron started as their bushy-haired friend hurtled towards them, "guess who asked me today if..."

"Oh honestly Ron give it a rest!" Hermione snapped as she collapsed into one of the common room's overstuffed armchairs. "No one cares about the next person you imagined asked if they could date Ginny."

"I haven't imagined anything!" Ron retorted angrily, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"Well then, let me be the first to assure you that no one in their right mind would ask you if they could go out with Ginny. She's dated more boys than you know and none of them even knew you existed, let alone cared if you had a problem with them dating your sister. Besides," she added, completely ignoring Ron's gaping mouth, "Ginny's already seeing someone."

"What? Who?" Harry interjected before Ron could begin shouting again.

"Seamus." She answered casually, ignoring Ron's muffled howl of fury. "She's like him for ages. Well," she said, "not as much as Harry, maybe. But as soon as she got the feeling something was off a few months ago, she started looking around again."

At this point, both Harry and Ron's faces were identical masks of shock.

"Wait," Harry choked out, "what do you mean months ago?"

"Oh really Harry," Hermione chided him in that infuriatingly exasperated tone of hers, "you may have thought you were able to hide that you're gay, but in reality it wasn't that difficult to see. You only kissed Ginny or showed her affection towards her in a way that was more brotherly than romantic. You really on ever became physical because you felt you had to. It was clear in made you uncomfortable and," she continued, clearly enjoying the looks of horror on both her friends' faces, "it's not like you were ever able to hide that you've fancied Dra—"

"YOU GOT PHYSICAL WITH MY SISTER?!" Ron shrieked, completely cutting Hermione off and causing Harry to bury his flaming face in his hands.

"What do you think your sister does in her free time?" Hermione asked, rolling her eyes.

"What did you come up here to tell us?" Harry croaked hoarsely. He peered at Hermione through his bangs and hoped that his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Oh! Well, rumor has it that there was an experimental accident in the Slytherin common room," Hermione said, kindly dropping the subject of Ginny's sexual activities and Harry's sexual preference for the time being. "Apparently Goyle tried to make a potion to dye his hair blonde and not only succeeded in turning his hair bright pink, but created a toxic virus that had to be quarantined to the Slytherin's dungeon."

"Wait….Goyle wanted blonde hair?!" Ron asked skeptically.

"Always the first to recognize the most important point of the story," Hermione answered, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Ron. He was trying to impress Millicent Bulstrode and someone told him she has a thing for blondes."

As Ron cackled with laughter, Harry looked at Hermione with questioning eyes. "But where are the Slytherins going to go?"

"And now we reached the important part of the story—well Harry since you asked such a logical question, I can tell you that, the Slytherins have been assigned to stay in different house common rooms." Ron instantly stopped laughing and began to choke on what must have been his own saliva.

"What?! Who in Merlin's bloody name would assign the Slytherins to share other houses' common rooms?"

"Where else would they go?" Hermione asked, her temper clearly rising.

"The forbidden forest, the other dungeons, the owlery, the floor of the entrance hall," Ron replied ticking off examples on his fingers as he went.

"Well that's not what Dumbledore wanted and how would that create more house unity?" Hermione yelled, throwing her hands in the air as she spoke.

"Because we don't need—"

"Who's been assigned to our common room?" Harry broke in, cutting Ron off midsentence.

"Well Harry," Hermione slowly replied, her face stretching into a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, "I'm glad you asked. I asked Professor McGonagall and there are no Slytherin girls staying in our dorms. But, we will be playing host to none other than Blaize Zabini and," she stopped for emphasis, "Draco Malfoy."

Harry let out a constricted noise that sounded like a cross between a dying cat and a suffocating hamster, burying his face in his hands as he did so.

"This is ludicrous, we can't share a dorm with Malfoy. I mean let's think back on all the hell he's tried to put us all through. What's Dumbledore playing at and…what's wrong with Harry?"

"Oh nothing," Hermione said smirking as she glanced at her homosexual friend, "he's thinking about the best way to hide his sexual preference from our new houseguests.

Harry made another choking noise, but otherwise said nothing.

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"This is a nightmare," Draco cried hauling his smaller-than-usual trunk up what felt like the fiftieth flight of stairs. "Who in their right mind decided to put the bloody Gryffindors this far up?"

"Well, we'd probably be there already if someone hadn't felt the need to tell some fifth year that her hair was…what was it? "Taken from the back pages of Witch Weekly's beauty tips," Blaize huffed in an irritated fashion.

"Well I'm sorry but that clip was gaudier than my Aunt Clasinda's hairpin collection. And trust me, her favorite is a stuffed Cornish Pixie arrangement. That girl owes me at least a thank you."

"You made her cry."

"The price you pay for honesty."

"She didn't ask for your opinion!"

"We do not always know the things we need," Draco said philosophically, "but one day she will look back and think 'Merlin, if it wasn't for that exceedingly handsome Draco Malfoy I would have been a fashion disaster for the rest of my life!' and then she will send me a very nice card saying so."

Blaize snorted derisively. "Okay Draco, whatever floats your boat. But this is the painting we're supposed to go through and I don't think she wants your fashion advice."

Both boys stared at a huge painting of a fat woman in pale pink dress. She stared at them skeptically.

"I know the headmaster told me you'd be here for a bit, but I don't like it. Not at all. This tower is for Gryffindors, not for…your type."

"Excuse me," Draco exclaimed indignantly while Blaize tried to elbow him painfully in the ribs. "But I think that as a portrait of your status you should treat guests with much more—"

"Pig's Feet."

Blaize and Draco whirled around to see Harry Potter standing behind them. The pink lady glared at him but eventually nodded and swung forward mumbling something about "insensitive about not having legs" as she complied. Looking between the two Slytherins, Harry took a moment to size up his new roommates. Blaize was tall, with dark wavy hair that accented caramel colored skin and chocolate eyes. He may not like Pansy much but, Harry had to admit, she had taste. Slowly he turned his gaze to the other guest. Draco was shorter than Harry remembered, Harry figured he had about 4 inches on the Slytherin, and his body could be described as nothing short of petite. His hair seemed to fall in soft, spikey tendrils and the white-blonde of is hair matched is grey eyes and pale skin perfectly. Harry brought himself back to reality, realizing that he had essentially just been checking out his arch nemesis and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"She can be a pain sometimes but she'll get used to you. Just don't give her any reason to make you sleep in the corridor."

Blaize snorted, "bit late for that. I think she already has a vendetta against Draco and his oversized ego." Grabbing their trunks the two Slytherins followed Harry through the portrait hole and into the open space of the Gryffindor common room.

"Your rooms are up the stairs to the left, make yourselves at home," Harry said gesturing towards a narrow staircase at one end of the common room.

"Thanks Harry," Blaize said, shooting him a smile as he turned and headed in the direction Harry had indicated. "Would you mind showing us around later? I hate looking like that awkward person who doesn't belong."

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah, no problem. And don't worry, most people here are really great once they get to know—"

"Absolutely not."

Both Blaize and Harry turned to stare at Draco in shock.

"I do not need a 'tour' Blaize in order to feel like I belong." Draco said loftily, trying to hide his anger as he glared daggers at his friend.

"Suit yourself if you want to be a prat," Blaize replied shrugging. "See you in a few Harry?" Then he disappeared up the stairs.

An awkward silence fell between Harry and Draco as the two stared anywhere but at each other.

"I don't need your pity Potter," Malfoy finally said icily. "I can take care of myself."

Before Harry could get another word in, the blonde had turned on his heel and marched up the stairs, his hips swaying in a fashion that was anything but masculine. Harry closed his eyes and attempted to massage away a headache he could feel approaching. House unity his ass. No matter how gorgeous Draco Malfoy was, he didn't have to put up with the prat. As Harry slumped into an armchair to wait for Blaize, Hermione peered at him from the safety of the girl's dormitory staircase. Rolling her eyes, she could not understand for the life of her why boys were so stupid. These next few weeks were going to be very interesting indeed.

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Woo! So guys thanks to all your sweet reviews and favs and follows, I got the second chapter banged out a lot sooner than I anticipated. I'll try not to get buried in my AP studio art paintings and art college stuff and work on keeping updates fairly steady. Suggestions, reviews, or any kind of message will be received with love 3 Sending you all a huge lesbian hug :3


	3. Chapter 3

Well here you go! Upon request I've gotten chapter 3 out as soon as I could. Hope you enjoy—as per usual, I do NOT own characters, basic plotline, etc…thank J. K. Rowling for all that magic.

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With each step he took up the boys' dormitory stairs, the overwhelming feelings of anger and irritation began to diminish. By the time he reached the top of the staircase, Draco almost felt bad for having yelled at Potter…almost. Then he came face-to-face with Blaize and all the calming stair-therapy went down the drain. Not sure what method would be best to show the other Slytherin how displeased he was with him, Draco settled on an aloof cold shoulder and marched past the dark-haired Slytherin without so much as a glance. Unfortunately, Blaize was never one to understand the delicate art of body language.

"What the hell is your problem?!" he demanded, as Draco threw his trunk onto a horrendously scarlet bedspread. "Harry's done nothing but save your ass and try to make the best of the situation we're in and all you've been is a world-class arse!"

Draco straightened angrily and whirled to face Blaize. "Oh Harry, calling him by his first name now, are we? I can see the two of you are getting close."

"Are you mental?! Do you honestly think I'm trying to make a move on not only Harry fucking Potter but on the guy you LIKE?!"

"My feelings are completely irrelevant and I would prefer that you didn't jump to such ridiculous conclusions. I have tastes that far exceed the uncultured mannerisms of some Gryffindor who has no problem sticking his neck out for any damsel in distress. I just think it's interesting that we're here all of five minutes and already you two are on a first-name basis."

"You are unbelievable," Blaize growled, his eyes growing darker with every second that passed. "I have done nothing wrong and neither has Harry, yet you treat both of us like shit! I don't know when you'll finally get it through your thick skull but people like you for who you are, not who you're family name tells you to be. If you keep acting like this, you're going to accomplish nothing but chasing Harry away."

Draco stood there, quivering with rage and indignation. "When will people understand," he whispered, glowering at Blaize, "that being a Malfoy is who I am? And I don't care about Harry fucking Potter. He means nothing to me. All he's been is a thorn in my side from day one, and all I want to do is fucking get through the next few weeks until I can go back to my own bed and go back to pretending like he doesn't exist!" With each word that came out, Draco's voice rose in volume until he was shouting.

In his most Slytherin way, Blaize smirked and began walking away, looking back over his shoulder in time to call out: "Okay Draco, if that's what you have to tell yourself so you can sleep at night, fine by me, but," he added, pausing for another minute, "one day you're going to realize that you can't just hide your feelings and expect people to read your mind and come sweep you off your feet. People move on, and one day, the truth isn't going to mean anything anymore because it will be too late." Turning from the shocked blonde, Blaize walked back to the Gryffindor common room, leaving Draco alone "in the lion's den" so to speak. With nothing better to do but sit and pout about what an arse Blaize was being, Draco sank onto the violently red bedspread and looked around at his new home until further notice.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been he decided, especially considering the lack or interior design Draco was sure the whole lot of Gryffindors possessed. There were four poster beds up and down the length of the room, each with its own set thick, velvety, maroon hangings. Each boy seemed to put their own personal touch to his space, much like the Slytherins did, but instead of expensive artwork or family crests on the walls, these boys had posters of their favorite Quidditch teams or in someone's case, muggles kicking a black and white ball around. Weasley also seemed to be a fan of the Chuddley Cannons, Draco snorted derisively as he considered their dependable losing streak for the past three years. The bedspreads all seemed to be a patchwork of reds, maroons, and golds in sloppy, homely stitching. As much as he hated to admit it, the room had a certain comfortable feel about it.

Realizing that he was doing nothing but aimlessly staring around him, Draco decided to begin unpacking his things, lest someone come up the stairs and wonder what he was doing. As he worked, Draco's mind wandered back to Blaize and his blood began to boil again. The argument between them had not been his fault. Okay, maybe it had but Blaize had most definitely started it. The way he had used Harry's first name to his face, the way he smiled at him, the way Harry seemed genuinely interested in taking Blaize for tour. He invited you too you know. A voice in Draco's head chimed in suddenly. You were the one who decided to pitch a fit and stay behind.

"What choice did I have?" Draco demanded to no one in particular. "It's not like anything good would have come from Harry and I spending time together."

Or maybe, said the voice, you're just worried that Harry will fall for Blaize or that he has no feelings for you. You know you can't handle rejection.

Okay, maybe inner voice had a point. Lucious Malfoy had essentially disowned Draco as soon as he came out to the family about his sexuality. Without wasting any time, he had cut Draco off from his inheritance and all the money associated with the Malfoy name. He could stay at the manor over the holidays, but was completely ignored by everyone, including Narcissa. Lucious made sure that Narcissa and Draco never had time alone together and intercepted all his letters to her. At least that's what Draco assumed, considering none of his messages ever received an answer. Eventually Draco gave up trying and over the summer holidays spent most of his time in his room or out on the grounds so he wouldn't have to work too hard to avoid human contact. He gave up attempting any form of conversation with Narcissa after they accidentally ran into each other on the stairs in late August. Draco had begun to speak, trying to explain to her, help her understand that he was still her son, gay or straight. Narcissa merely pushed passed him, muttering something about her "husband not allowing her to speak to disgraced members of the family." Draco had felt no desire to try to contact her since.

Draco shook his head, pulling himself from his brooding thoughts by reminding himself that being on his own wasn't entirely bad. He was now free to choose whatever career path and future he wanted without worrying about disgracing the stupid Malfoy name and, he decided, something could definitely be said about learning to cook and doing your own laundry. He was stronger now, much more independent than he'd ever been and saw no reason why he should fear rejection from some stupid boy.

But, said the little voice reminded, doesn't it ever get a little lonely keeping all your feelings bottled up inside?

Draco couldn't deny that. Having Blaize around was great, but even he didn't know that Draco was no longer part of the Malfoy family. Having someone who he could trust completely and rely on would be nice. Someone who he could talk to about anything and everything, someone who would be there no matter what, maybe even someone who would comfort him when things got rough... Draco jumped and angrily clenched his hands on his knees. He didn't need anyone in order to feel whole or be happy. He was completely capable of taking care of himself and would never give anyone else the chance to hurt him the way Luscious had again. Draco Malfoy would never let anyone get close enough to try.

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"Well, there you go," Harry said standing in front of the fat lady once again, "that's all the basic geography you'll need to know in order to get around. You'll pick it up once you start doing it on a regular basis."

Blaize nodded, looking around as he did so. He hadn't expected Harry so be so…open. For someone who had everyone's eyes on him all the time and was hailed as the Golden Boy and the Savior of the Wizarding World, Potter was nothing if not humble. He made casual talk as they wandered the corridors and passageways around Gryffindor Tower and almost entirely hid that fact that something was on his mind. Almost.

"Thanks Harry," Blaize said, extending a hand to the surprised Gryffindor. "If you don't mind my asking, is something bothering you? You don't have to say anything," he added quickly as Harry bit his lip, "I was just wondering."

"It's nothing," Harry muttered, running his hands through his already-mussed hair. "I just, don't understand why…I'm not quite sure how…"

"You're not sure how to get closer to Draco," Blaize cut in matter-of-factly. It wasn't a question.

"I, uh…I mean…I've heard that..."

"He's gay?" Blaize snorted. "Please, Draco is as gay as the day is long. He's much more obvious than you ever were... or are. At least in my opinion."

Harry started. He had been aware that the news of his sexual preference would become school-wide knowledge as soon as he and Ginny broke up, but sometimes he honestly forgot that legitimate information was just as susceptible to spreading as rumors were. He wasn't even sure how he felt about Draco also being gay. Sure, he'd had a gut feeling. But he was always wary that it may have been his own opinions, biased stereotypes, or maybe even a little bit of hope that was both ludicrous and absolutely mental. After all, Draco hated his guts and had been quite open about his feelings towards him since they first met. Their last conversation ultimately proved that point, hadn't it?

As if reading the raven-haired boy's thoughts, Blaize chuckled, an amused smile flitting across his face. "You're more right that you know Potter," he said. "But you're a little off on the smaller details and those give the big ideas their underlying tone, so don't overlook those. I don't want to say anything more though, you'll have to get the whole story from Draco himself. My final parting hint is this: that guy who said 'if at first you don't succeed, try, try again?' He wasn't so far off. Well, if you're completely stuck let me know, but give it at least a week to try and puzzle it out on your own. If I'm on the right track, you're just as stubborn as someone else I know, so unsolved questions will drive you crazy until you figure them out. Well, goodnight Harry!"

And leaving Harry in absolute shock, Blaize gave the password to the fat lady and hurried through the portrait hole. Unable to figure out how to command his legs to move, Harry slid down the stone wall onto the floor and stared blankly ahead of him, trying to sort through all the thoughts flying through his mind. If he didn't know any better, he would say that Blaize was trying to send him on a treasure hunt to find a way to get Draco to like him. And he'd definately hit a nerve with the stubborn comment…and he was right. Harry wouldn't want to stop digging until he understood all the clues Blaize had just set in front of him. But he only cared because it involved him, he told himself. His interest had absolutely nothing to do with whether or not Draco liked him, or was gay…or the fact that you fancy him, added a wise voice in the back of his head. Knowing how pointless it would be to try and sleep with his head so full of questions, Harry set off to the astronomy tower in with the hope that fresh air might help him relax.

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As Blaize made his way into the boys' dormitory to begin getting ready for bed, he saw Draco curled up on top of the covers, frowning in his sleep. Smiling slightly as he set his things on the bed to the left of Draco's, Blaize replayed his conversation with Harry over again in his mind. You'll thank me one day, you proud, stubborn git, he thought, lightly ruffling Draco's hair and pulling a blanket over him. You can hate me for as long as you like but trust me, you'll thank me one day.

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Alright you guys, chapter 3 up and ready to go! Any comments, suggestions, or reviews are always welcome and appreciated! Hope you guys enjoy and chapter 4 will be in the works as soon as I can…midterms and college stuff are a teeny bit insane right now, but I'll do my best! Love you all :3


	4. Chapter 4

Hello lovelies. I know it has been a while since I've updated and I'm so sorry for that. I had a family emergency and was in the hospital for a few days. And, as I'm sure you can guess, they do not allow for technology use in hospitals. After I wanted to focus on getting back on my feet before even considering how to update the next chapter. But I became inspired and here we are! Hope this meets your expectations!

When Harry finally made it back to the boy's dormitory, he found Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville standing in shock at Blaise sprawled out on his four poster and Draco curled up under the blankets of his. Harry joined the back of the congregation as his fellow Gryffindors turned to him in horror.

"What the devil is the meaning of this?" Seamus exclaimed as he gestured to the two sleeping boys that clearly did not belong where they currently lay. "Did you know about this Harry? I'd heard about some stupid epidemic of pink hair but I never thought it would land on us to—"

"It's ridiculous," Neville squeaked, attempting to look angry rather than scared. "After all the animosity between our houses, why would they choose to put them with us? Draco and Harry are enemies after all."

"Bloody 'house unity,'" Ron muttered darkly, "keep your eyes open boys, there's no telling what these bastards could decide to do to us in enemy territory. I don't care what Dumbledore says, I don't trust them for a minute."

"Guys you're all being absolutely ridiculous," Harry interjected. All eyes focused incredulously on him. "What I mean is," he stammered, trying to remember the amazing point he'd been thinking of only moments before, "that…uh…we can't hold grudges forever. People change and I think that if Dumbledore trusts this to work, we should at least give him the benefit of the doubt and remain positive until something goes wrong."

"I agree with Harry," Dean piped up suddenly. "After all," he said with a sly grin, "who am I to pass up rooming with two very attractive bad boys?"

"Just because you and Harry are gay does not mean that we all want to stare at Slytherin boys changing," Ron replied hotly. "And what is with every gay man in this school coming out all of a sudden?!"

"It's about time," Dean said with a shrug. "Once Harry was out, there was really no holding back, and Draco's been obviously gay since day one. No point hiding who you are."

"Way to go Harry, you've started another trend…the great gay parade," Ron said, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Well I guess it's better that you guys can be honest and trust that you can be who you are…"

"Well said," called Dean. "Now if you boys will excuse me, if I stare too much longer I might have to jump into bed with one of these sexy men, so I'm going to bed." Dean retreated to his bed, playfully squeezing Seamus's arse as he went and causing him to yelp indignantly. Dean laughed. "You'll come out one day to me Sea, and then..." he made a sweeping gesture as he closed the curtains around his four poster, "the rest will be, as they say, history."

The boys stared at the closed curtains in shock, then all turned to Seamus with raised eyebrows.

"I don't know what you're staring at," he exclaimed hotly, his face turning red as he spoke. "Bloke's just…off is rocker a bit…not enough sleep…or…something…" Mumbling faintly as he retreated, Seamus walked quickly to his bed and shut the curtains behind him.

"Well…" Neville said awkwardly, "while we're all hear I wanted to tell everyone—"

"Nope, sorry! Nothing against gays but I can only take so many of my friends coming out at once, Neville," Ron said dashing to his bed and jumping under the covers. "We'll have this conversation tomorrow Neville."

"No worries, he's really cool with it, he just doesn't want to see any tongue action," Harry said, patting Neville on the shoulder as he wandered to his own bed. "Night Neville…and… way to go! Nothing wrong with being who you are." As Harry pulled his curtains around him, he couldn't help but notice that Draco's bed was just right of his own. Laying down on his pillow, he attempted to stop the thoughts still swirling about his head. What had Blaise been on about? Could he trust him? Was he setting him up? But then again, why should he even care? It was Draco Malfoy they were talking about for God's sake—nothing worth getting excited about. And yet…Harry thought back over the past 5 years of his life at Hogwarts he couldn't deny that aside from studies, flying, and actually having friends, Draco Malfoy had always managed to turn up. He had always been around to make things difficult or add in his usually unhelpful opinion, but Harry had grown accustomed to it, comfortable with it, almost enjoyed the bantering. When Draco started ignoring him as of last year, things just felt eerily quiet. Wrong. Something was missing without Draco in his life. That thought alone was enough to disturb Harry. Burying his head under his pillow in an attempt to forget everything that had happened, he couldn't help but notice the rhythmic sound of Draco's quiet breathing.

Still standing in the middle of the dormitory, Neville finally spoke to no one in particular, "but all I wanted to say was that my newest plant finally sprouted…I'm not gay."

No one answered him.

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Draco woke earlier than usual on Saturday. This was surprising because he usually used his weekends to catch up on beauty sleep. For some reason, he couldn't seem to be able to roll over and burrow deeper into the blankets the way he normally did in his own bed. He lay in bed staring up at the top of his four poster and tried to decide what to do with the extra hours that lay before him. Never one for indecision, Draco decided to go fly for a few hours while the pitch was empty. Quickly dressing behind the hangings of his bed, Draco grabbed his broom and quietly made his way out of the boy's dormitory and into the common room. Both were blessedly empty—most Gryffindors were probably still asleep or down at breakfast. Draco preferred it that way. He had no desire to stick out like a sore thumb every time he had to pass through unfamiliar territory. Draco met no one on his way to the entrance hall and as he approached the Quidditch pitch, he saw that it was, indeed, deserted. Smiling to himself, Draco kicked off from the ground and took off at top speed, enjoying the way his anxiety and stress fell behind him as he sped ahead.

Flying had always been a passion of Draco's. Although he had never been as good of a Quidditch player as Harry was, Draco found that his favorite time to fly was in the mornings or evenings. He felt more relaxed when he was able to be on his own and use the freedom flying provided to sort through his thoughts. After completing a few laps, Draco contented himself to aimlessly weaving around the pitch as his thoughts began to gather themselves. Annoyingly, his mind seemed set of focusing on Harry Potter. Draco exhaled loudly, a look of irritation on his face. Fine he thought, what great mystery is there to solve when it comes to Harry fucking Potter? As if his mind was connected to a tape player, Draco reviewed his thoughts from the previous day and sighed, realizing that he would never be satisfied with simply remaining indecisively in the wings. He had to choose what he was going to do next, what his next step would be. Draco's stomach lurched at the thought of making such a decision and he bent lower over the handle of his broom, hoping the increased speed would settle his nerves. Really, he was being childish. There was absolutely no reason for Potter to have such control over his emotions. It was ridiculous. If he didn't know any better, he would say that he actually wanted to do something about his feelings.

As soon as this thought popped into his mind, Draco felt an excitement he hadn't experienced in years. It was a nervous excitement, but a feeling that demanded action. Deep down, Draco knew he had already made up his mind. Backing off and pretending Potter didn't exist was not an option any longer. Well, it was, but he'd be miserable if he took that path and Draco could not stand people who wallowed in their regrets. So, if stepping out of the picture wasn't a choice, where did that leave him? He rolled over on his broom a few times and spiraled upwards, hoping to jog his thoughts towards a more definite answer. Draco methodically tried to put his chain of thoughts into place. He wanted to get closer to Harry, he couldn't deny that. So, how did he do that? Did his just strike up a conversation with him? About what? He grimaced as he imagined himself lamely asking Potter what the transfiguration homework was or whether if it was supposed to rain this weekend. Looking up at the gathering clouds, it didn't seem like a bad guess. Okay, so trivial conversation wasn't an option. So what then? Draco supposed he could ask Blaise, but the idea of requesting help, especially regarding his feelings for Potter, made him flush uncomfortably. He shelved that as a last-minute resort. What he would love to do, he realized was just get some time alone with Potter. Talk to him, get to know him more, understand what was going on inside his head. Draco had always been amazed when he happened to overhear some of the conversations Potter had with Weasley and Granger in the library. For someone who could never escape the limelight, he seemed amazingly grounded…like he understood more than most teenagers. That he meant what he said and was a genuine person. The logical thing would be to ask Potter to Hogsmeade with him. There was a trip in a week and they could get coffee or Butterbeer and spend a few hours getting to know one another. Draco's stomach did another summersault at the thought of asking Harry fucking Potter on a date with him. The only other option Draco saw was to wait for Potter to ask him, but Draco had never been a patient person so with a slight nod, he spiraled down towards the pitch, his mind made up. He touched the grass just as the sky open up and it started to pour.

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Harry stared moodily out at the rain rushing down the library windows. He wished for the thousandth time that day that he had gotten up earlier like he had planned and gone flying before the storm hit. Normally, rain didn't bother him, but lightening was flashing at regular intervals and Hermione had jumped on the inclement weather to remind him that they had a lot of work to catch up on. Hermione came back to the table she, Harry, and Ron were currently occupying in the library and dropped a stack of books right next to Ron's ear. Ron, who had fallen asleep on his potion's essay, jumped and fell off his chair, spilling ink all over himself.

"What the bloody hell was that for?!" he demanded, looking up angrily.

Madam Pince came from around the corner with a disapproving look on her face. "Causing a ruckus in my library Mr. Weasley?" the librarian croaked threateningly as she studied the scene before her.

"N-no ma'am," Ron spluttered, attempting to wipe the ink splotches off the carpet. "Jus'….cleaning?"

Madam Pince scowled and walked away muttering something about "hooligans" under her breath.

Ron glared at Hermione. "You drag me down here on a Saturday to do work and then almost get me kicked out of the library? You really need to reevaluate you goals."

Hermione snorted. "Please. You fell asleep and I woke you up. The fact that you were lazy enough to leave your ink bottle open was your own fault."

As the two continued to argue in whispers, Harry tuned out his friends' voices and went back to aimlessly staring out the window. He almost always enjoyed Ron and Hermione's company, but for some reason, he felt he would much rather be alone. Something just felt like it was missing. He couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly, but something told him it was neither Ron, nor Hermione's fault. That being said, Harry knew he would not be able to explain his feelings to them. They would listen, nod sympathetically, and blame the weather, lack of sleep, or bad dreams again, all of which Harry knew where playing no part in his moodiness. Just as he was considering attempting to be productive and finish his own Potions essay, a book flew over the nearest bookshelf and landed with a loud thump in front of Harry. Ron and Hermione stopped arguing and looked up, startled, and stared suspiciously at the object in front of Harry. The book was titled The Handler's Guide to Dragon Training and appeared weather-beaten and rather burned around the edges.

"Planning something for Hagrid, Harry? Because if you are, I might need to walk you back down memory lane to revisit Norbert," Ron huffed indignantly. Both he and Hermione looked concerned, remembering the last time Hagrid had tried to keep a dragon as a pet.

Harry shook his head. "Please, I have no desire to lose any fingers…or hair."

"Maybe it was an accident," Hermione reasoned. "Someone was too lazy to put the book back in its proper place and sent it somewhere else to get rid of it."

Harry absentmindedly flipped through the pages until he found a small, folded piece of paper. He removed it curiously and stared as he saw his own name scrawled on the front of the note in messy letters. Looking around, Harry saw no one who appeared to be watching him; actually no one else seemed to be in this section of the library at all. Opening the note slowly, Harry's brow knitted in confusion as he read the words on the paper.

Have you ever wanted to get to know someone, but felt that you weren't worthy for a minute of their time? I may not be, but I'd still like to spend time with you…just in case. Keep an eye out, you'll hear from me soon.

Harry dropped the note and jumped up from the table. He sprinted around the bookshelf behind him to find the aisle…empty. He ran up and down all the rows in the library and found only a small group of Hufflepuff third years, loudly complaining about the essay Professor Flitwick had assigned them. When Harry sat back down, Ron and Hermione were pouring of the note.

"Harry, who wrote this?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Maybe it was meant for another Harry."

"Don't be so stupid Ron," Hermione scoffed. The way the note is written, the fact that it's addressed to Harry Potter, that it landed in front of him, I highly doubt this was an accident."

"Then who could it be from? Harry has plenty of admirers," Ron pointed out. "It could be a first year Hufflepuff for all we know."

"I doubt it," Hermione said. "The wording makes it seem like this person has known Harry for a long time and they've wanted to talk to him. "

"So, another fangirl?"

"Ron, everyone knows Harry is gay and this handwriting is purposefully messy. The person wanted to make sure Harry knew they were male."

Ron looked at her incredulously. "And how the bloody hell can you say that?"

"Come on Ron—Harry, Malfoy, and Dean aren't the only gay individuals at Hogwarts. And Harry is quite attractive. It's really quite logical that another male may find him desirable, but not be completely comfortable because of Harry's reputation at the 'Savior of the Wizarding World' and all that." Hermione finished her spiel and looked defiantly at her two friends.

"What if it's a trap? Some homophobic bastard may be trying to make a fool out of Harry or hurt him."

"Hmm," Hermione thought for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that. Maybe that is the case. We'll have to keep an eye out. The person did say that Harry would hear from them again soon. But it could just be someone who's shy."

Harry couldn't be sure if he believed Hermione because he trusted her or because part of him wanted what she said to be true, but he suddenly found his heart beating faster and his spirits lifting. Maybe today wasn't a complete waste after all. He glanced around the deserted library once more, looked down at the messy words before him, and smiled ever so slightly. Again, he couldn't say why, but he had to strangest feeling that whoever sent the note was watching him. Without thinking, he grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, scribbled a quick note, and dashed out of the library, leaving Ron and Hermione behind in shock. As Harry rounded the corner to the grand staircase, he rushed right by Draco Malfoy who had been forced to jump behind a statue as Harry sped from the library.

Draco sat down on the floor. He wasn't sure what he had expected Potter's reaction to be, but he had never predicted that he would have to hide again in order keep himself from being caught spying on the trio in the library. Despite the shock of having to move from one hiding spot to another, Draco was almost positive that the smile on Potter's face had been the most genuine he had seen in weeks. Or maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him.

Less time between now and the next update, promise! Feel free to comment, respond, suggest, etc.. Sending you ALL huge hugs :3


	5. Chapter 5

Okay guys! Sorry for the time between updates but here ya go—chapter 5! Felt really sick this morning so I thought I'd use my time home from school for something productive—because AP Comparative Government is definitely not productive ;) But as per usual, I do not own Harry Potter, characters, plot, etc…and I want to thank all other fanfiction writers as well—you guys inspire me to keep going with this story and allow me to find ideas when I'm totally stuck!

Harry skidded around the final corner and came to a halt in the owlery. The nocturnal birds hooted and looked at him in irritation, ruffling their feathers at they tried to hide in the shadows of the rafters. Harry kicked some of the straw that lay on the stone floor and stared down at the note he had just written. It was hardly neat, but it was no worse than the scrawl that he had be presented with so he assumed the recipient would be able to read it with little trouble. Harry bit his lip at he realized the miscalculation in his brilliant plan. He wanted to send his unknown admirer a note, but how was he supposed to send something to someone he didn't know? It was one thing to tell and owl who to find if their whereabouts were unknown, but Harry had a funny feeling that asking Hedwig to find an unknown person in a known location was a different story all together. Harry sat on the ledge of one of the large windows and stared across the grounds. What else could he do? He supposed he could simply wait for another note, but the idea of letting fate run its course made him twitchy and anxious. He wanted to do whatever he possible could to ensure that the sender would continue writing to him. It was ridiculous, Harry thought, shaking his head. He had no idea who this person was, or if they were being genuine or just trying to trick him. Sloppy handwriting didn't mean the individual was definitely male and there was no way determine for sure that this wasn't someone's idea of a practical joke or a trap.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He could always wait and see if the unknown person kept sending him letters. That might help him decide whether it was a threat or not. Somehow, he felt that possibility was highly unlikely. Maybe he was naïve, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the words on the paper in front of him were absolutely true. But maybe he just wanted to believe that. He turned the paper over in his hands and reread the note he had written. "Well, no point in waiting around I suppose," he murmured to himself. He began looking up into the rafters until a splash of white caught his eye. "Hedwig," he called.

She hooted sleepily and turned her back on him. He called her stubbornly for the next five minutes until Hedwig determined that whatever the matter was, it happened to be urgent and she would not receive a moment of peace until she completed her master's task. Harry tied the note to her leg and explained: "I don't know who this is going to but they go to Hogwarts and the sent me this." He held up the note for her to observe. "Think you can maybe give them my reply?"

Hedwig seemed to consider this request, than hooted gently and nipped his finger playfully before taking off. Harry smiled. He had no idea what Hedwig planned to do, but he felt that she would definitely try to grant his bizarre request. He made a mental note to look for her at breakfast tomorrow morning. She was easy to spot amongst the other brown, grey, and tawny owls so if she delivered his letter to his unknown sender, he could maybe glimpse who they were. If nothing else, it was better than waiting for another letter. A gust of wind drove the rain through the open window and Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle feeling of the water on his face. He pushed his hair out of his face, succeeding in mussing it further, and contemplated what to do next. There was nothing left for him to do here and as much as the quiet solitude made him feel at ease, he knew that Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the library and would be demanding an explanation. Besides, he thought as he turned to go, if he didn't finish his potions essay now, he probably wouldn't until the morning it was due.

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Draco sat in an empty classroom, perched on a desk as he watched the torrential rain splash down the window. It wasn't exactly warm in the empty room but Draco had stumbled upon what he assumed had once been a Divination classroom before Trelawny took the job and was pleasantly surprised to find a deep armchair and a few battered poofs strewn across the room amongst desks. Normally, he would be curled up on one of the black leather sofas found in the Slytherin common room while he watched the roaring fire and listened to the quiet murmurs of his housemates, but since the common room was still quarantined… Draco figured Blaise was in the Gryffindor common room, making friends with the other lion hearts, but they still weren't on speaking terms. And besides, Draco was in no mood to be around people he honestly wanted nothing to do with. His patience was nowhere near the level required for that sort of social torture. Instead he wasted no time in christening the room as his own and made a mental note to come by more often.

Feeling a bit stiff from sitting on the hard desktop for so long, Draco hopped off, stretched and made his way over to the window, peering out. It was a rather pointless movement. The rain was so heavy that all he could see were monochromatic shapes, constantly being distorted by the tiny rivers of water cascading down the freezing glass and iron panes. Having no desire to start any homework or to leave, Draco began to mindlessly doodle, tracing his fingers through the condensation that had collected upon the glass. Without warning a large mass flew straight at the window, causing Draco to yelp and fall upon the floor, hitting his head on the leg of the desk. He stared at the thing for a moment before he heard the unmistakable sound of a beak tapping glass. Scrambling to his feet, Draco wrenched the window open and was shocked to see a sopping wet Snowy Owl fly through the window and land on the desk. Draco stared as the creature shook itself and flapped its wings, sending water droplets flying. If he didn't know any better, he might say that owl was Potter's. But it couldn't be…

An impatient hoot shook Draco from his thoughts and he noticed that the bird was holding out her leg, which had a note tied to it. Draco untied it and was surprised to find it was dry. Whoever had sent it had obviously used a water repellent charm to keep the note safe from the weather. The owl hooted softly and took off before Draco could do anything else. Perhaps she was worried he would send her back out into the storm to deliver a reply. Placing the note in his pocket, Draco shut the window, dried up the puddles of water on the desk and floor, and sat in the old armchair. For being so old and overstuffed, it was incredibly comfortable and Draco rearranged himself, curling up further as he allowed the fabric to envelope him.

He studied the note. There was no name written on the outside of it, so how did that owl know to deliver it to him? Was it even for him? Curiously, he opened the small piece of paper and read the untidy lettering running over the page:

I'm not sure why I'm replying to your letter when I don't even know who you are, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Yes, I do know that feeling very well. Most people assume that I'm something really special when I'm honestly not. Frankly I don't deserve half of what people say about me. But if I try to explain that, no one listens to me because they don't want to hear it. Does that make sense? I don't know who you are, but for some reason I feel like I would like to spend time with you. Now it's up to you…write me back if you want to talk more.

Harry

Draco was so surprised he had to read the note three times just to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He had never expected Harry to write him back but the amount of honesty and sincerity that came from each word was even more shocking. Harry had no clue who he was, yet he was willing to open a deep conversation with him…was he stupid? Maybe he was just too trusting, always looking for the best in people. Draco had seen that trait in him from day one. Something about how he presented himself, how he handled himself around others made it obvious that although he was strong, there was undeniably an emotional fragility behind "The Boy Who Lived."

Draco reread the closing line again and felt an indignant noise rise in his throat. Potter was challenging him. He wanted to know how serious Draco was about writing to him and following up with his idea to meet. Harry wasn't content letting him operate his plan on his own, he wanted to make sure Draco was proposing the idea with every intent to follow through. The ball was in his court now; Potter had made that perfectly clear. The next move was all his. He sat back and started back out the window, no longer seeing what was before him, but allowing his thoughts to consume him instead.

How had Potter's owl known where he was, where to find him? There was no way Potter knew he was the unknown letter writer, the tone from his note made that perfectly clear, yet she had shown up and handed him this note without any hesitation. Somehow, Draco seriously doubted she had gotten that lucky. Now Harry had directly challenged him, Draco knew that backing out was no longer an option. He had a habit of pursuing something important to him, but turning back at the last possible moment but his anonymous method was no longer safe. He could choose to simply never reply, but somehow that just wasn't an option and as Draco pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, he understood for the first time that it truly never had been. He bit his lip, thought for a moment, and began writing, remembering to purposely make his handwriting messier than usual. Just in case Potter went as far as to look at people's penmanship for possible handwriting matches. He may have accepted his challenge, but he wasn't ready for him to know who he was just yet.

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"I still can't believe you did that," Hermione fumed over breakfast the next morning. "I mean really Harry, have you any idea how unlikely it is that Hedwig will be able to find the person who wrote the note, let alone deliver it in this weather—" she gestured towards the ceiling that still depicted dark clouds and pouring rain. "I mean, what were you hoping to accomplish? You know, I think Ron's right, maybe this was someone's horrible idea of a practical joke—why don't you just forget about it."

Ron started choking on his sausages, staring it absolute shock at the idea that Hermione actually agreed with him. Harry was more annoyed than anything else. The morning mail had come and gone and with Harry, Ron, and Hermione all combing through the flying feathers, none of them had seen Hedwig. Did he have any valid reason for saying that he knew the note had been genuine? No. But somehow, he just felt it was.

"I don't have evidence Hermione," he said slowly, stabbing at his sausages as he spoke, "but I do know how to trust my gut and something is telling me this guy is genuine."

"GUY?!" came the exasperated shouts from his friends. "Harry you don't even know if this person is male or female or, or—"

"Human," interjected Ron.

Hermione and Harry gave him looks of mingled surprise and disgust, all of them hoping Moaning Myrtle wasn't behind the recent events. "Right," said Hermione slowly, "I think we're all in agreement. Harry, we're just going to move on and pretend like this never happened. Chances are, Hedwig didn't even get to deliver that letter any—" Hermione stopped short as a silence fell over the hall. Flying through an open window as a black raven, its glossy feathers softly rustling as it swooped throught the hall and landed right in front of Harry.

Harry stared.

The raven blinked.

Looking down at its leg, Harry could clearly see his name scrawled in the same messy handwriting it had been on the previous letter. Before Ron and Hermione could say anything, Harry untied the damp, red ribbon from the raven's leg, grabbed the note, and ran from the hall just as the raven took off from the table the flew back out into the ever-present downpour.

Alright guys chapter 5—let me know what you think :D Hope you enjoyed and feel free to comment, give suggestions, etc..I'll get cracking on chapter 6 ASAP!


	6. Chapter 6

Hey Guys!! Okay so it’s been aaaaages since I posted but I was having a super shitty night at college and went reading through some of my old work. I realized how much I liked what I had been doing and how much I missed it. So my New year’s resolution is to make more time to update—DESPITE ART COLLEGE AND MY CRAZY PAINTING MAJOR AND PRINTMAKING MINOR. SO chapter 6…hope it doesn’t disappoint…  
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Harry stood in the Entrance Hall panting. So he had another note, great. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Looking around for some indication of the time, Harry realized that if he went to look for somewhere quiet to read and respond to his latest mystery letter, he would most likely miss today’s enthralling herbology lesson. Although the thought of skipping was incredibly tempting, Harry knew Hermione would stop at nothing to hunt him down and would only use Harry’s lack of studying as another reason why his anonymous correspondent was bad news. With a sigh, Harry tucked the note safely away in his bag, braced himself, and made a dash for the greenhouses as another bolt of lightening split the sky in two.  
“Mister Potter, you appear to be early today!” Professor Sprout exclaimed in surprise. The tip of her hat was barely visible over a teetering tower of flowerpots, so Harry had no idea how she had known who had entered the greenhouse.  
“Well don’t just stand there!” she scolded, now watching Harry’s soaked robes create puddles around his feet, “come over here and start helping me measure out this fertilizer.”  
All-in-all, it was probably for the best that Harry was busy for the entire period of herbology. It made a good excuse for him to avoid Ron and Hermione’s accusatory looks and appear too engrossed in the conundrum of dragon dung verses unicorn dung to even think about answering their questions. Besides, he hadn’t even read the note, so there wasn’t very much for him to say. By the end of the lesson, everyone ‘s hair and clothing were still damp and now smelled strongly of some form of animal feces. Grumbling as they filed out of the greenhouse and back into the pouring rain, Harry noticed many people no longer bothered to open their umbrellas. Getting wet was an unavoidable state of being these days. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back to the castle, Ron had to shout to be heard over the wind, rain, and the squelching of their shoes in the mud.  
“Well maybe this rain is good for something!”  
“And that is…?” asked Hermione skeptically.  
“We might not smell like shit by the time we get up to the castle. That means less time in the showers.”  
“At this rate, I feel like I never leave the shower,” Harry responded trying, and failing, to shake his sopping bangs out of his eyes.  
Not wanting to face the deluge of questions he would receive if he missed dinner in order to read his latest letter, Harry impatiently sat through the meal and left the great hall as soon as he felt he could escape without appearing too suspicious. With a hurried mention of the library and an “essay…big…gotta get to…” Harry left the hall and made his way up to the owlery. Once he had settled himself onto a section of straw that was neither wet nor covered in droppings, Harry dug through his bag and pulled out the now rather crumpled note….  
Well Mister Potter, that was certainly and intriguing challenge you handed me and since I am never one to back down from a challenge, I accept. If you wish to know who I am, meet me in Hogsmeade next weekend. I will be behind the Three Broomsticks at exactly one o’clock. Try to be punctual. I wouldn’t want to catch a cold standing out in this rain.  
Harry stared at the note….Hogesmeade was next weekend? How had that happened so quickly? He shook his head, that wasn’t the point. Well, it was, but not entirely. Be punctual? When was he ever anything less than punctual? As soon as he thought his, memories of he and Ron sliding into potions, transfiguration, divination, and just about every other class within an inch of being late came to mind. Okay, so maybe his mystery writer wasn’t being entirely unfair, but catch a cold? Really? That seemed a bit overdramatic. Harry was quite sure he’d been wet all week and had yet to feel any sort of illness creeping on.  
But that really wasn’t the point either, was it? The question remained whether or not he would accept to go on what could only be described as a blind date. Well, there was no guarantee it was a date Harry reminded himself. He wasn’t even sure if this person was male or female and even though almost everyone knew he didn’t swing that way, he still encountered a ridiculous amount of women who were convinced they were the one to turn him straight. If it was a man, he might not even be gay, single, or interested. Well, Harry thought, surely he or she had to be interested in something to want to meet him…unless Hermione was right and this whole thing was nothing more than an elaborate trap. Was this worth all the trouble just to find out that it was only some nutter’s idea of a joke? Harry stared out at the rain pondering this for what felt like an eternity, watching the clouds and trying to consider all of his options. This person, whoever they were, and mentioned their communication as some sort of challenge. A challenge of what? Guts? Wits? Stupidity? Whatever it was, it didn’t feel dangerous and Harry’s gut was usually a relatively good compass to follow. If he didn’t go next weekend, refused to respond, and went on with his studies like nothing had ever happened, would that bother him? As much as Harry tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t matter either way, he knew it was a lie. This person had caught his attention and Harry knew that his curiosity would in no way accept letting such a mystery to go unsolved. The best he could do was meet this person at Hogsmeade and at least get an answer to what their agenda was. Even if it wasn’t anything special, he would know why he had been dragged into all this. Satisfied with his final decision, Harry scribbled a reply and went to search the rafters for Hedwig.  
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Draco Malfoy had never claimed to be the best student. He was no Hermione Granger and he was very well aware of that, but he was smart enough to do well and for people to respect him as an intelligent human being. That is, until today. Draco still couldn’t believe how badly he had confused his transfiguration assignment. Rather than turning his parakeet from bright green to baby blue, he had successfully turned it into a palm tree boldly emblazoned with purple and yellow tiger stripes. After giving several students headaches and having them sent to see Madam Pomfry, Draco was able to reverse his mistake and properly change the color of his bird under the watchful eye of Professor MaGonnagle. As the lesson came to an end and Draco began to pack his bag, Blaise came to stand next to his desk with a bemused smirk tracing his face.  
“So you’re a fan of tigers now?” he asked innocently, keeping his face poker-straight.  
“Maybe I am, got a problem with tigers?” Draco responded, trying not to smack that stupid smirk off his friend’s face. He didn’t want another fight to break out between the two of them. There were enough things on his mind without having Blaise give him the cold shoulder.  
“No of course not,” Blaise answered mildly, falling into step beside Draco as they made their way into the crowded halls. “It’s just a rather drastic change from the reaction you had to that tiger at the zoo.”  
“I was six! And that was not a tiger—it was an elephant with a sever skin problem. I have no idea what those muggle keepers thought they were doing!” Daco fumed. He didn’t enjoy being reminded of his weaker moments as a child, and waiting for Harry’s response already had him on edge. What if he was too forward in his last letter? What if Harry thought it was ridiculous for the two of them to meet at Hogsmeade. And behind the Three Broomsticks? What was he, a Hufflepuff? Why couldn’t he just face Harry inside the pub? Was he that afraid of rejection? If Harry didn’t want anything to do with him, it wasn’t as if he, Draco, would care. This was more of a challenge than anything else, he’d said so himself.  
“Sickle for your thoughts?” Blaise asked. It was then that Draco realized he had stopped following the flow of traffic and was simply standing staring at a stretch of empty wall between a painting of a dragon and a painting of a lion.  
“Nothing, it’s—” Draco began before stumbling to a halt. Blaise had been his best friend and confidant since childhood. He may not know everything, but if Draco couldn’t speak his mind to him, who else could he open up to?  
“’Nothing’ doesn’t normally have you missing dinner after double transfiguration,” Blaise observed. C’mon Dray, what’s going on? Is it about those notes you’ve been sending Potter?”  
Draco wheeled to face him, feeling the blood drain from his face. “How..? How did you…?”  
“Oh come on Draco! Other people may not know you, but I can read you like a book. You’ve been distant, distracted, and moodier than usual lately. You won’t quit staring at Harry whenever you see him and whenever you see an owl your face gets whiter than usual. Which, until recently, I didn’t even know was possible. I know you like Harry and I know that since we’ve moved into Gryffindor tower you’ve been on edge. It’s as if you’ve decided on what you’re going to do, but you’re still waiting for the final pieces to fall into place.” Blaise spoke all this with complete certainty and stood still once he had finished his spiel. He then looked at Draco with an expression of utmost patience and waited for him to speak.  
Draco stood looking at his friend for a moment, weighing his words carefully before speaking. “Yes, I may have taken matters into my own hands in order to put my…questions about Potter to rest. But that’s all,” he answered. “It’s not like I’m obsessed or that I’m simply waiting around for a response like some common Romeo—”  
“Draco, please,” Blaise interrupted, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I think we all know that in this situation, you are Juliet waiting for your handsome prince to save you.”  
Before Draco could formulate a retort, a Snowy Owl fluttered in though a partially open window a few feet down the hall and soared over to Draco. After untying the note from around the bird’s leg, Draco stood back and watched the creature take flight back into the storm in search of somewhere warm and dry to rest. Looking from the note in his hand to the now-open window, Draco shoved by Blaise in the direction of the library. As he passed, Blaise almost missed his furious mutter of “Damsel-princess my arse!” as Draco’s petite frame and blonde hair was swallowed up the crowd. Chuckling to himself, Blaise continued towards the Great Hall and dinner, already making plans to hunt down Harry once he had helped himself to two helpings of mashed potatoes. Gryffindor’s golden boy had some questions to answer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello hello lovelies!!! Thank you for kind reactions and support for my update!!!  I was shocked by the return of fanfiction.net readers and archiveofourown.com newcomers!! Heads up, if things get a wee bit smexy, fanfiction.net is probably going to block the content so head on over to** [ **www.archiveofourown.com** ](http://www.archiveofourown.com) **and find the UNFILTERED version.  As always I love your feedback and opinions so keep ‘em coming! Now back to the boys….**

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            “Hey, Harry,” a voice called through the crowd as he fought his way towards the Great Hall in hopes of snagging some treacle tart.  Harry turned around and saw Blaise working his way towards him; quite a feat considering the gaggle of first year Ravenclaws blocking his path.  “Will you _move_?! There is one of me and five of you and I can _assure_ you that my arse is smaller than yours missy!” Blaise snapped as a short girl with obviously-dyed blonde hair rolled her eyes.  “I’ve been spending _way_ too much time with Draco,” Blaise whispered conspiratorially as he finally reached Harry.  “I could have absolutely ripped her hair job to shreds.”

            Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing, wondering what Blaise needed to talk to him about and why it couldn’t wait until after he had eaten.  The two stood in awkward silence for a moment until Harry finally decided that if he didn’t’ say something soon, his stomach was sure to start digesting itself.“So,” he ventured, “is there something I can help you with?”

            “Besides getting into your ex-girlfriend’s pants?” Blaise asked innocently as Harry choked on his own saliva.  “Kidding!  Kidding!” he reassured the raven-haired boy before he got the wrong idea of this conversation.  “She _is_ very attractive and intelligent and appears to smell of strawberries,” Harry looked on the verge of puking.  “But that is not what I wanted to ask you.  I wanted to ask,” he paused for a moment, “if you’ve received any mail lately.”

            “Mail?” Harry replied, trying to look innocent.  Could Blaise be the anonymous letter writer? He was probably the last person Harry would have guessed to be sending him mysterious notes apart from Uncle Vernon and Draco Malfoy.  Was Blaise even gay? If he was gay, would he, Harry, be interested in dating him?  Harry considered.   While he had never looked at Blaise before, there was something to be said about his sharp jaw and smooth skin.  It was the kind of color that made Harry desperately want a caramel mocha coffee….Harry stomach growled and he jumped, flushing as he did so. 

            “Yes. Mail, Potter,” Blaise said, an amused gleam in his eye.  “You know, like handwritten notes or letters usually carried by owls or birds of some sort or, so I’ve heard, by men in funny blue hats?”

            “You mean mailmen?”

            “Is that what they’re called?  Huh. And here I thought Muggles never made any sense.  But enough stalling, answer my question please,” Blaise smiled, his face telling Harry that the request was not optional.

            “I may have gotten some letters,” Harry stalled, “but everyone gets mail don’t they?  There’s nothing funny about me getting mail."

            “It is when you don’t know who the letters are from and the anonymous person in question wants to meet you before revealing their identity,” Blaise said offhandedly his eyes scrutinizing Harry’s reaction carefully. 

            “Baise, what do you want to know? Have you been sending me those notes, are you trying to ask me out or…?”

            Of all the reactions Harry could have expected to receive from that question, the idea of Blaise doubling over with laughter did not come to mind. 

            “You—think that I’m—asking you out?!” he choked.  Harry wasn’t sure how to respond, so he decided to remain silent.  “While I am flattered that you find me attractive enough and see that my fashion sense is worthy of meeting your standards Potter, but no.  I did not write those letters, nor am I asking you out.  Although,” Blaise said, pausing as he studied Harry’s very unfashionable grey t-shirt and navy jeans, “I if was to be interested in men and arses, I would be honored to suck you off.  But I didn’t come here to tell you that.  I just wanted to ask you to be careful.  People might mean well but some of them have commitment or trust issues and, frankly, you don’t strike me as the kind of guy who has trouble popping the “l” word.”

            “Lesbian?”

            “Love.”

            “Oh.”  Now Harry was nothing short of dumbstruck.  Trying to process this new information, while attempting to keep his burning face under control.  After coming out, he’d messed around with some guys behind closed doors but nothing ever went very far.  He just wasn’t meant for a ‘friends with benefits’ situation; he liked commitment in his relationships.  Still, the idea of Blaise’s mouth around his cock…Harry snapped out of his thoughts before he ran the risk of making his pants uncomfortably tight.  This was certainly not the place to fix _that_ problem and he didn’t want to give Blaise the satisfaction.

            “He cares,” Blaise said quietly, no longer looking at Harry.  “He just isn’t used to showing and receiving love.  I think every time he opens up, the person he trusted abandons him.  If you hurt him like that, I will hex   you into oblivion, drag you back, and do it again before feeding you to a blast-ended skrewt.  Got it?”  Without waiting for a reply, Blaise turned on his heel made his way towards the Great Hall, not giving Harry another glace.

            Rooted to the spot, Harry stood in the hall trying to make sense of everything that he had just heard.  He didn’t know much about Blaise or his circle of friends, but the only person he could be talking about was Malfoy.  Harry’s gaydar might not always point north, but he’d know that his nemesis was anything but straight from the day they met.  It would also make sense that having a queer heir in the Malfoy family would be out of the question.  Luscious had probably done whatever he could to remedy that situation.  Harry shuddered as thoughts of “pray the gay away” camps and “treatment centers” came to mind.  Even if Draco had escaped from that torture, there was no way he’d still be in line to receive the Malfoy fortune when he came of age.  Coming out had been no picnic for him, but at least the family he cared about—the Weaslys, Hermione, Serius, Lupin, and the remainder of the Order—had embraced Harry’s sexual preference without a second thought.  Being labeled both gay and the Chosen One wasn’t fun, but being gay, estranged from your family, and all alone sounded a bit worse to Harry.

            Suddenly, the idea of treacle tart sounded rather nauseating.  Harry decided to meander the library shelves since flying was still out of the question.  At least if he looked busy, he might have a shot at being left alone.  As he perused the empty shelves of the library, Harry thought about Draco Malfoy.  It was no secret that their history has been rather rocky.  It had, after all, been Harry who had gotten Lucius  arrested and placed in Azkaban last school year and even before that, he and Draco had been at odds over just about everything.   Did Draco even care that his father was in prison?  Harry was sure that even if his own father happened to be a homophobic pureblood, he would still regret having him in wizard’s prison. 

            His and Draco’s differences aside, wait... _Draco?!?!!_ When did he start referring to _Malfoy_ as _Draco_?  Maybe it had been when he started seeing him a person with feelings and a life rather than just a mindless zombie who was willing to tear down anyone who got in his way.  Harry honestly had come to think that all of Draco’s animosity came from the fear of letting his overbearing father down.  But what did Draco want from _him_?  To beat him up for locking up his father?  To just be…friends?  More than friends?  There was no way for him to know without speaking to Draco first.  Should he wait to meet up with him next weekend or should he try to make an impression beforehand?  Draco may have “trust issues” but he wasn’t about to give him an open invitation to waltz into his life and potentially put his heart through a shredder.  Harry knew that he wouldn’t find the answers he was looking for standing stupidly in the entrance hall so deciding that an empty stomach never helped anyone think, he made his way towards dinner hoping to find the solution to his predicament written in his mashed potatoes.

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            Draco sat in the back corner of the library, staring down at the small folded piece of paper that lay in front of him.  It really wasn’t all that intimidating.  Anyone should be able to open it up and start reading, right?  Draco reached for the note, started to fumble with the folds, and stopped.  What was he so afraid of?  If Potter rejected him, it was clearly his loss.  He was the one that would be missing out on spending time with a very fashionable homosexual hunk, not Draco.  Realizing that anyone walking by would probably think he was suffering some kind of compulsive hex, Draco roughly unfolded the small piece of paper and read the words written on the page.

            _Very well.  I accept your accepted challenge.  I shall see you at 12:55.  Try not to be late._

            Draco wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or be offended at Potter’s snarky response.  Clearly it was meant as a joke, but Draco was not used to having his own sassy nature turned back on him. 

            “What’s wrong with your face?”

            As Blaise slid into the seat opposite him Draco nearly fell off his chair.

            “What happened to a simple ‘hello, sorry for interrupting?’” Draco spluttered, trying to right himself with as much dignity as possible.

            “You didn’t look that busy,” Blaise said, shrugging.  “Just like your face was about to completely turn a very nice shade of pastel pink.”

            “My face. Does NOT. Turn. ANY shade of pastel.” Draco ground out glaring daggers at his best friend.

            “Oh, so it’s Potter that has you turning inside out and upside down?’  Blaise retorted.

            “THIS HAS NOTNING TO DO WITH POTTER!!!” Draco yelled.

            After a severe lecture from Madam Pince and a temporary ban from the library, Draco and Blaise were sent packing and were forced to find somewhere else to continue their conversation.

            “Nothing to do with Potter?” Blaise mused.  “So you don’t care about him at all?”

            “I didn’t say that either!” Draco said exasperatedly.  “Really Blaise, other than giving me a headache what do you want?”

            “Oh nothing.  Just wanted you to know I ran into Harry today.  We talked about you a bit, but that’s all.”

            “You. And Harry. Talked about… _me_?!?!” 

            “And just when I thought your face couldn’t’ get any whiter,” Blaise mused.  “I really should test this theory more often…”  But he was speaking to an empty corridor as a petite figure sprinted flat-out up the stairs and in the general direction of the Gryffindor common room.

“I knew I should have gone into therapy,” Blaise muttered, smiling to himself as he turned and went to look for someone else in need of his relationship expertise.

              As Draco ran for the portrait of the fat lady, he continually kept thinking of what Blaise could have told Harry. No not Harry. Potter, dammit, _Potter_!  Would Blaise tell him that Draco was the one who had been sending him notes?  Did Potter already know?  If Potter knew would he still be interested in meeting with him?  What if Blaise told Potter that Draco found his horrible fashion sense slightly endearing?  He didn’t’ think he could bear that—it would be too much.  Barely leaving time to breathe between words, the Slytherin shouted out the password and hurdled the through the portrait, racing up the stairs to the boys common room.  Just as he rounded the corner Draco ran headfirst into someone coming out of the showers.  A certain someone with messy black hair, emerald eyes, and a very toned body that was only covered up by a damp towel slung around his waist.

            As Harry felt blindly around for his fallen glasses, Draco was able to tear his eyes away from Harry’s body and look anywhere but below the Golden Boy’s hips.

            “Dra-Malfoy?”  Harry asked in shock looking at the blonde sprawled on the floor with him.  “Can I help you?”

            Draco had nothing to say.  No idea how to respond.  How could this happen?!  He was never short of words, _never_!  Frankly, he was frequently accused of having far too many!

            “Malfoy…? Are you okay?” Harry asked, officially looking concerned as Draco’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish thrown out of water.

            “Uh…I..uh…” Draco was frozen.  Under the concerned gaze of Harry’s emerald eyes, all logical and ordinary forms of speech fled his mind.  Looking wildly around Draco managed to choke out the only sentence that could come to his head.  “You really ought to watch where you’re going Potter!  Honestly, barreling around the dorm like that, someone could get hurt!”

            Quickly trying to regain his composure, Draco stalked off towards the showers, made it halfway there, realized he didn’t’ have a towel, turned around and hurriedly grabbed his shower supplies, and marched back towards the bathroom.  Harry watched in astonishment, calling out at the last second,  “There might not be much hot water!”

            The answering slur of profanity told him that Draco was very well aware of the water temperature.  Biting his lip to keep from smiling too much, Harry saw a piece of paper that had fallen on the floor during his and Draco’s collision.  Curiously, he picked it up and unfolded it.  As he began scanning the untidy scrawl, his eyes widened.  This was his last response to the unknown correspondent!  What was Draco doing with it?  Unless… Draco was his anonymous letter writer?  Unsure of what to do, Harry quickly refolded the note, laid it on Draco’s pillow, dressed, and left to go find Hermione and Ron.

            When Draco finally finished his repertoire of showering, grooming, and other lengthy beauty habits, he made his way back to his four poster.  Luckily Potter had left the room, but that did nothing to stop Draco from blushing at the thought of their encounter.  Harry probably thought he was brain damaged or was part troll.  How was he supposed to meet in next weekend if he couldn’t even talk to him in the dormitory?  As Draco began placing his soaps and salts back in his trunk, he noticed something on his lying on his pillow.  It was a scarlet umbrella with a note attached to it.  Draco grabbed for the paper and found his last letter from Potter tucked in the depths of his new note.  The latest letter read:

            _Found this on the floor, must have been in your pocket but I wouldn_ _’_ _t want you to lose it.  This is for next weekend.  I won_ _’_ _t be late but even if I_ _’_ _m early, we wouldn_ _’_ _t want to risk you getting sick. Harry_   


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! /sorry for the VERY delayed update—art school has been murdering my time and energy….yay painting major!! On THAT note—if you guys wanna see my art or possibly throw some funds my way, here’s my online gallery.  Website will be uploaded this summer!** [ **http://artistrendezvous.cansonstudio.com/web/lionheart-painting/lionheart-painting** ](http://artistrendezvous.cansonstudio.com/web/lionheart-painting/lionheart-painting)

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            Harry awoke on the day of his planned date with Draco about 5 hours earlier than he needed to if he planned to shower and go, and about 3 hours earlier if he planned on taking 2 hours to eat breakfast.  “Well,” he thought as he stared at the ceiling, “Malfoy can’t complain about my lack of punctuality.  The only way I could possibly be late at this rate is if Dobby took all by laundry for cleaning without telling me again.”  As this thought fully formed and made it’s way through he brain sluggishly, Harry jumped up in horror and ran to check his trunk in case the unthinkable had occurred, stubbing his toe as he did so. Upon frantically checking every inch of his trunk, Harry concluded that his clothes were, in fact, exactly where he had last left them, and rubbing his toe, he clambered back into bed to hopefully get a few more hours of sleep. 

Unfortunately, Harry’s brain seemed less interested in sleep, and far more interested in running through everything that could possibly go wrong with Draco later on and how the sheeting rain seemed louder this morning that it had for the past several weeks. It suddenly occurred to Harry that he hadn’t the slightest idea what he was supposed to wear. He had never given much thought on what he wore, usually as long as he had pants, a shirt, robes, and possibly a sweater for days when the fires of Hogwarts weren’t able to completely eradicate the chill of the winter winds, Harry had always assumed he was more than fine. There had been that time in fourth year where he’d had to wear dress robes for the Yule Ball, but that was more of a requirement issued by Professor McGonagall and he’d had no desire to face her wrath if he chose to do otherwise.  But now, thoughts of his shirts and socks kept swimming through Harry’s head as a snide voice whispered _Draco is always dressed to perfection, and you think you can win his heart by throwing on some old jeans and a t-shirt? Please._  

“I do NOT want to win his heart,” Harry shouted to no one in particular. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself!”

“’Course you don’t, mate,” mumbled Ron sleepily from the bed on his left.

From the right, Harry swore he heard a sharp intake of breath and suddenly realized with a sickening jolt that Draco Malfoy was currently sleeping in the bed next to his. Harry buried his face into his pillow in humiliation and hoped to Merlin that Draco was a heavy sleeper. Suddenly unable to stand the confined space of his four-poster an longer, Harry jumped up and made his way to the showers, deciding to spend his free hours mentally reviewing his wardrobe for his first date with his old arch nemesis who he wasn’t supposed to know had asked him out in the first place.

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            “Wrong, wrong, wrong, it’s all WRONG,” wailed an aggravated Draco as he tore his trunk apart, throwing expensive clothes this way and that as he did so. Blaise testily removed a pair of silk boxers from his hair and tossed them on the floor with a grimace.

            “Honestly Dray, I think you’re making a _bit_ too much out of this whole thing. I mean for god’s sake—you’re meeting him in the _pouring_ rain, _behind_ the three broomsticks, on a Saturday _afternoon._ And we _both_ know what Potter’s wardrobe consists of—no offence,” he added quickly to a very miffed Ron Weasly who sat two beds down watching the scene unfold with controlled amusement.

            “None taken, I think I’d be more concerned if you were trying to give Malfoy advice based on what Harry was wearing.  Because, frankly, he never cared until this morning.”

            “Wait—he cares?!!?  What did he say, what did he wear,” a frantic voice called from behind the curtains of Malfoy’s four-poster as an emerald green blazer hit Ron square in the face.

            “I don’t _know_ ,” Ron exclaimed in an exasperated voice, “clothes?”

            “You’re no help!” Draco sounded as if he was on the verge of hysteria at this point. Blaise gave Ron a pleading look; silently begging for anything that would help him get his best mate out the door without ripping his hair out.

            “Look, all I know is he came over to me in a panic three hours ago about how his shirt didn’t match his socks and he had no idea what to wear. I shouted at the bottom of the girl’s dormitory until Hermione woke up and helped him pick out and outfit and then I went back to bed.  Last I heard she was trying to explain that he was going to be four hours early and he was saying that he wanted to leave before you woke up.  Said something about no wanting to see you beforehand and make things awkward.”

            Blaise snorted. “Well, he’s done a remarkable job at _that_. Dray, for god’s sake you’ve been on _how_ many dates? With _how_ many people—men and women alike?”

            “This is different,” Draco mumbled distractedly running his hand through his hair, “this has to be right…special…oh dammit—now I have to fix my hair again!”

            Blaise caught both of Draco’s wrists and forced him to sit down on the bed.  
            “Dray—you have fixed your hair seven times already. It. Is. Fine.  Now, since your fashion sense has apparently jumped out the window, it looks like I’m gong to have to save your sorry arse.”  Without a second glance back, Blaise went to the mountain of abandoned clothes and sorted through them, clearly looking for something specific. “Here,” he said throwing a pair of jeans at his stunned friend. “These jeans make your arse look amazing and this shirt,” he continued throwing that along with the pants, “will bring out your eyes. Wear your boots under the jeans, grab that leather jacket you love and then you’re good. GOOD,” he said, waving a threatening finger at his friend as Draco opened his mouth to protest. “Now go get dressed. I’ll clean up this mess for you.” As Draco scrambled to the bathroom to finish primping, Blaise set to work refolding and reorganizing Draco’s wardrobe with a wave of his wand.  “I’ve never seen him like this,” he said to Ron as the two boys watched the flying clothes organize themselves by season, color, and fabric.

            “Neither have I,” said Ron. “I never ever knew Harry had any idea that people actually _planned_ outfits before.”

            “Look, not to bring up anything negative here but Draco’s my best mate and I know he can come off like an absolute prick, but he’s had to go through a lot in his life.  More than he lets on. If Harry does anything to hurt him—“ he broke off as Ron started laughing.

            “Harry hurt Draco?! I think you have it the other way around. I have never seen Harry so nervous about dating anyone ever.  Before or after coming out.  I love the guy but he’s too nice for his own good sometimes, doesn’t know when people are taking advantage of him.  If Malfoy does _anything_ to hurt Harry—”

            “He won’t.”

            “And you know this because…?”

            “Call it a gut feeling.” And with that blunt statement, Blaise walked out of the dormitory leaving a disheveled Ron alone at the end of his bed.

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            Harry stood behind the Three Broomsticks checking his watch as the rain kept pouring down.  He was standing under the eve at the back of the pub and kept nervously trying to shake his damp bangs out of his eyes.  Hermione had lent him and umbrella before he left this morning since he had given his to Draco earlier. He had finally decided to bite the bullet and tell Ron and Hermione about running into Draco in the dormitory and finding out that he had been the author of Harry’s letters.  Ron had been shocked and slightly creeped out, while Hermione had an annoying look of ‘I know something you don’t know’ about her for the rest of the night.

            “But doesn’t it _bother_ you that the guy who’s tried to kill us for the past five years suddenly wants to meet you behind a pub?” Ron had asked incredulously.

            “Oh Ron, really! Draco has never tried to kill us!  He was following in the footsteps of his father, that was all he had ever known and I’m sure it was the only way he ever saw any kind of praise or affection form him.  And by our fourth year, Draco was honestly just trying to get Harry’s attention. Harry’s had a crush on Draco for years, whether he’s known it or not.  “

            “I haven’t had a crush on Draco—”

            “Draco? DRACO?! Since when have we started call _Malfoy_ Draco?” Ron demanded furiously.

            Three hours and several lectures from both Harry and Hermione later, Ron grudgingly agreed to support Harry in going out with Draco even if he personally found him to be a “revolting, ferret-like prick.”  Hermione went through the rules and conventions of having a friend who is seeing someone and personally promised to turn Ron bald for two weeks if he did anything to interrupt Harry’s love life.  After that, Ron had been quite helpful, although he had not given up the habit of rolling his eyes whenever Harry got himself into a tizzy about making a fool of himself or not knowing what to wear.  But you couldn’t have everything.

            Harry looked down at the outfit he had settled on.  He didn’t want to look like he tried too hard, but Hermione had insisted he put some thought into what he chose to wear.  In the end they had settled on low-slung blue jeans that apparently “accented the arse no one knew he had,” a tight-fitting grey t-shirt, and green sweatshirt that Hermione said reflected his eyes. He had never taken much notice to what his clothing did to his eyes, but he decided that he would go out on a limb and see if girls actually knew what they were talking about when it came to fashion. 

            When he had finally arrived at the meeting spot, Harry was well aware that he was still an hour early.  With noting better to do, he had wandered inside and sat in the back corner for forty-five minutes to stay warm, and then had ventured back into the rain.  As he squinted through the sheets of rain that continued to pour down, Harry tried to spot the Gryffindor umbrella he had given Draco amongst the sea of multicolored umbrellas moving past him on the main street. Just as he was about to check his watch for the seventh time in two minutes and start seriously panicking about whether or not he’d been stood up, a voice came from behind Harry, making him jump.

            “Hey.”

            Whirling around, Harry saw that he was facing none other than Draco Malfoy. He was carrying the scarlet and golden umbrella that Harry and given him and seemed extremely calm and collected in his tight grey jeans and sleek leather jacket.  Harry was already starting to feel underdressed. Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked, making Harry realize that he’d been standing there gaping like an idiot ever since Draco had walked up.

            “Erm, hi,” he said, very much aware of how awkward he felt at this very moment. What was he doing here again? Why had he agreed to this? This surely was a mistake. A huge, gaping mistake that he had agreed to in a moment of insanity.

            “No need to look so nervous, Potter.  Remember _you_ agreed to meet me.” Malfoy seemed to be enjoying this far too much.  Harry tried to straighten his shoulders and appear completely at ease.

            “Yes, that’s true Malfoy but you never really told me why you had such a great desire to meet me and talk.”

            Now it was Malfoy’s turn to look uncomfortable.  He looked around and ran a hand through his hair; mussing it up in a sexy manner Harry was sure only Draco Mafloy was capable of.

            “Yes, well I suppose I’ll have to explain myself at some point today, won’t I?”

            “That might be nice.”

            “Don’t patronize me Potter.”

            “That’s the last thing I’m doing Malfoy. I just have some questions I thought you might be able to answer for me.”

            “Yes…well I suppose that’s fair.  Why don’t we—why don’t we head inside and I’ll buy you a drink.”

            “I can buy my own drink-“

            “Potter—”

            “But I appreciate the gesture, especially since I won.”

            “Won?”

            “Yes. You were two minutes late.”  And without another glance back at the shocked blonde, Harry turned on his heel and made his way towards the front entrance to the Three Broomsticks, holding the door open for Malfoy as he caught up and muttered an awkward ‘thank you’ as he made his way inside.  The two wound their way to the bar, refusing to look at each other has Harry hastily ordered two butterbeers and threw some change on the counter. Without waiting to see if Draco was following him, he took the drinks from a confused Madam Rosmerta and pushed his was through the crowd to a more private booth in the back corner. He slid in on one side and waited for Draco to follow suit, handing him his drink as he did so. Unsure of what to say, Harry decided to let Malfoy make the first move.  It was he, after all, who had invited him out on this insane excursion to begin with.

            “So, er, how are you doing today?” Malfoy asked, looking anywhere but at the Gryffindor sitting in front of him.

            “Wet,” came the matter-of-fact response.

            Malfoy’s face flushed pink.

            “From the rain,” Harry supplied helpfully, gesturing to the window as he spoke.

            “I know what you meant!” Malfoy replied indignantly.

            Silence fell over the table once again.  Harry was trying to decide whether he should just get up and leave when Malfoy suddenly began talking.

            “I’m not really sure what to say to your old arch nemesis on something that may or may not be confused as a date.”

            Harry blinked several times.

            “I mean,” Draco continued, “I didn’t even have the guts to tell you to your face that I wanted to meet.  I had to send letters and then you figured it out anyway and I wasn’t even sure why I sent you those lettesr or how you would react when you found out it was me and then you did and why did you show up when you knew it was me?”

            Harry blinked again.

            “Well?”

            “That’s an awful lot to answer in one sentence.”

            “So state it in a paragraph!”

            “Okay….But aren’t you the one who was supposed to be explaining why you asked me out in the first place?”

            “I—well.—”

            “I will answer all of your questions as soon as you answer mine. It’s only fair. _You_ asked _me_ out Mister Malfoy,” Harry said, smirking slightly as he did so. Draco’s face flushed pink again.

            “Okay. Fine.” He looked around for a minute, as if he would find a script hanging from the ceiling or on the specials menu.  “I wanted to know if you were gay.”

“You wanted to know if I was gay?”  Harry couldn’t believe this. Draco Malfoy and asked him out to see if he’d accept!  If he accepted then that would confirm is sexuality. “You could have read the tabloids for that. Asked any one of my friends. You didn’t have to go through all the trouble of asking me to meet you to simply see if I was gay. Unless,” Harry continued looking at the Slytherin suspiciously, “you were placing a bet on it to see if I’d back down.”

Draco could see that this was not where he wanted the conversation to be going at all. Damn stubborn Gryffindors. Why did they have to make everything so complicated? “No it was not a bet, and yes, alright fine I knew you were gay.  I’m just not good with words and I have no idea how I’m supposed to say any of this.”

“You could try skipping past he part where we’re both men.”

“Yes I’m aware of that now, thanks!”  Draco closed his eyes and massaged his temples as if he had a rather painful headache coming on. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes or kick him under the table.  Before he could change his mind, Draco started speaking again.

“ I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while I guess.  I never hated you. I thought I did, but looking back on it, I never really hated you.  I was just trying to fall into the right mentality that’s expected from the Malfoy heir.  I always knew there was more to you than you let on.  We both grew up with other people expecting us to act, think, and behave a certain way. We were both constantly judged based on who we are and who we’re supposed to be.  I mean, you don’t even know who you are.”

“I know who I am,” Harry shot back.  This was insane, Draco Malfoy asked him to meet him for a drink and now he was assuming all these things about him, like he actually knew anything about him!

“Not who everyone _says_ you are, but who _actually_ you are dummy. What _you_ want, not what everyone _says_ you should want.  There’s a difference.”

Harry stared.

“I wanted to talk to you because I think we have a lot more in common than you think.”

“Like what?” Harry asked exasperatedly.  “that we’re both on one side of this stupid war?  That we’re both supposed to hate each other?  That we both like to eat potatoes and like our coffee black!?”

“I don’t like my coffee black—”

“I DON’T CARE HOW YOU LIKE YOUR COFFEE! My point is that you say people assume things about us and here you are assuming things about _me_. You’re making no sense at all and I think you dragged me out here to prove a point to your mates that you had the balls to ask out Harry Potter.  This is ridiculous,” Harry stood up to leave, grabbing his umbrella as he did so. “I hope you have enough proof that you managed to trick the gay Harry Potter to come out into a bar.”

Harry stormed out of the pub into the rain, completely ignoring the unopened umbrella in his right hand. He walked aimlessly through the downpour,  not caring where he was going, just knowing that he had to get as far away from the Three Broomsticks and that prick as he could.  He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been letting himself believe that Malfoy actually wanted to talk to him.  By tomorrow morning everyone would be talking about how the great Harry Potter had been seduced by the Slytherin Ice Prince to go out on a fake date. Ron would give him that “I told you so” look and he’d have to see that stupid smirk on Draco’s face for the rest of eternity. Harry swung off the main road and began wending his way through the back alleys behind the different shops and pubs that lined the main street of Hogsmeade.  Suddenly he felt a hand grab his wrist.

“Dammit Potter, wait!” A soaking wet and very annoyed looking Draco Malfoy suddenly appeared to have a vice-like grip on his arm. Harry tried to pull away but to no avail.  “Look maybe I’m no good with words but I just ran out into a fucking monsoon to chase after your stupid arse so you are going to stand here and listen to what I have to say!”

Harry stared, half expecting Draco to stomp his foot and pull a purse dog out from underneath his jacket to accent his hissy fit.  Too stunned to speak he simply waited to the blonde to continue his rant.

            “I know I might not be the best with words when it comes to being romantic or chivalrous or serious but I asked you to meet me because I wanted to spend time with you.  And as stupid as that sounds, I dedicated my entire day to that plan so that’s what we’re going to do! I know you’re a Gryffindor and I’m a Slytherin and you’re the Golden Boy and I’m the Death Eater’s kid but I want to forget about all of that for just today.  I want you to pretend you don’t know anything about me and that there are no houses or sides or anything dividing us.  I just want to get to know you as Harry and for you to know me as Draco.  That’s all I want. Do you think you could wrap you’re incredibly stubborn brain around that concept for a single minute?!?!”

Harry stood there for a second, looking down at the Slytherin.  He had never realized how someone so much smaller than he was could leave him absolutely speechless. Hermione did it all the time, but she didn't really count at this point.  Avoiding looking into the Slytherin’s piercing grey stare, Harry searched for something safe to focus on and finally settled on staring at his shoes. Still looking as his muddy laces he mumbled, “Yeah, uh, okay I guess we could try that.”

“Good, come with me,” and without waiting for a response, Draco moved his grip to Harry’s hand and began marching back up the main road, dragging the sopping wet hero of the wizarding world behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! So I decided I was going to make a REAL effort to get chapters updated every other week to every 2 weeks so here we go—next chapter let’s do this!  As always, your support and kind remarks are so appreciated and I’m always open to hear your opinions, suggestions, etc.  Okay? Okay.  Let’s do this.**

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            Draco knew he had always been good at thinking on his feet, by the age of five he had been able to convince his father that his albino peacocks had locked themselves in the back shed without any coaxing or bird feed whatsoever. So here he was, Draco Malfoy, master of impromptu dragging Harry fucking Potter through the rain in an attempt to salvage this date. Meeting. Date? Whatever the hell it was, it was up to him if he had any hopes of seeing Potter again.  The question was, where to go?  Someplace quiet, where they wouldn’t have to worry about people staring or eavesdropping, but it couldn’t be a creepy bar that only received business from shady vampires and hags.  Without warning, Draco stopped dead in his tracks, causing Harry to run into him and almost cause them both to fall into the mud.

            “Warn someone before you just stop running like that!”

            “Please Potter, you play Quidditch your reflexes should be able to keep up with a simple change of pace.”

            “How was that a change of pace? You went from eighty miles an hour to a complete stop in two seconds!”

            Draco ignored him and made a sharp left down the nearest ally, ducking under the eves of the buildings as he did so.

            “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this place before, how stupid could I be?”

            “What place?”

            Once again, Harry received no answer.  Draco pulled him up to a small side street Harry would have walked by if it had not been pointed out to him by someone who already knew it was there. They made their way up the street and stopped in front of a small, dingy looking door.  A sign hanging over the door read: _Cauldron Coffee—from black to blonde, we have your brew!_ Harry stared.  Had Draco Malfoy just taken him to a _coffee shop_?  Of all the places he could have imagined he was being dragged to, this had not even been _close_ to making the list.

            “Well?” Draco snapped impatiently, “Do you plan to stand dripping in front of the door or should we go in?”

            Harry jolted out of his thoughts and quickly grabbed the handle and pulled the door out towards him; a noise reminiscent of a teapot whistling sounded as he and Draco stepped over the threshold.  Despite the slightly dilapidated exterior, the inside of Cauldron Coffee was quite cozy.  A counter laden with pastries, cups, syrups, and the largest espresso machine Harry had ever seen sat directly to the right.  The rest of the cafe was occupied by a collection of secluded booths and tables that had been paired with mismatched furniture of all shapes and sizes. Candles lined the walls and there was a fire roaring in the grate.  Harry followed Draco to the counter as a girl who looked to be in her early twenties met them at the counter. 

            “What can I get for you?” she asked, tossing an electric blue braid over her shoulder as she spoke and looking at Harry and Draco though black-rimmed eyes.

            “We’ll take two large mochas,” Draco answered automatically.

            Harry was about to protest about Draco ordering for him before he realized that he would have had no idea what to order off the impressive Espresso & Beverage board that hung behind the barista station.  Besides, Harry was pretty certain mocha had chocolate in it, and it was pretty difficult to not enjoy chocolate in a hot drink. Draco paid the barista and led Harry to a booth in a back corner of the shop near the fire.

            “You didn’t have to pay, I could have bought my own drink.”

            “You paid back at the Three Broomsticks, and besides, I’m the one who asked you out. I wouldn’t be a proper gentleman if I made you pay, would I?”

            Harry snorted.  “Because being a gentleman is what this is all about?”

            “Nothing wrong with making a good impression on a first date. They tend to last.”

            Harry wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he didn’t say anything. A tiny bell sounded and he jumped up. “I’ll get the drinks then, shall I?”

            Draco shrugged, trying to hide a smirk.  Really, the great Harry Potter was nervous over a coffee date? Draco was sure that was a side of the Golden Boy that not many people had the opportunity to see. Harry returned with two steaming mugs and slid into his seat opposite Draco.  They looked at each other for a moment before Harry broke the silence.

            “So, you wanted to get to know me. So…ask me something.”

            “Like what?”

            “Anything. However you usually get to know people.”

            Draco looked shocked.  “I’ve never done this before.  Hold on, let me think.”

            Harry smiled and leaned back, “Fire away whenever you’re ready Mister Malfoy.”

            Draco thought for a minute, staring at his fingers on the worn, knotted wood of the table. Suddenly, he looked up and smiled at the dark-haired boy sitting across from him.   “Okay, here’s my first question: do you really have a tattoo of a hippogriff on your chest?”

            Harry stared, utterly stunned.

            “Well?”

            “Of all the things you could ask, of all the questions in the entire world, you choose to ask me about a tattoo?”

            “You said I could ask whatever I want, I want to know if you have a hippogriff tattoo.”

            “Fine. No, I do not have a tattoo of a hippogriff on my chest—or any other tattoo for that matter.”

            “Really?” Malfoy looked slightly suspicious, as if the idea of Harry not having a tattoo was too ridiculous to even begin to comprehend.  “You sure you weren’t drunk and simply got it in a moment of poor judgment?  Not that I would ever judge you,” he added quickly.

            “Malfoy, I am one hundred and ten percent sure that there are no tattoos on any part of my body.”  Harry made sure to annunciate each word clearly unless Malfoy had a problem understanding pure logic and English.  “I suppose that makes it my question?”

            “Yes, I supposed it does,” the Slytherin replied grudgingly, taking a sip of mocha as he spoke.  “Whenever you’re ready Mister Potter.”

            Harry wasn’t sure what to say.  He knew there was a question he wanted to ask very badly, but he couldn’t tell whether he should play along with the innocence of the game first to help Draco become more relaxed.  That way, he could be sure to get a straight answer. He decided to follow that train of thought and see where it got him. 

            “Okay, why did it matter for you to tell me that you don’t hate me?”

            If Draco was expecting any number of questions, it certainly wasn’t that one. He stared at Harry for a good three minutes before finally opening his mouth to respond to the question.

            “Because you were judging me based on assumptions and that’s not how I want people to see me or think of me.  I don’t care what people think normally but if they have the wrong idea about who I am as a person, than I want to set the record straight.”

            “So you _do_ care about what people think of you.”

            “No, I most certainly don’t!”

            “You just said that you don’t want people to get the wrong idea about who you are, that sounds like caring to me.”

            “I want people to know me for who I am, not what my family name suggests. I’m sick of everyone jumping to conclusions because I’m a Malfoy.  That doesn’t define all that I am anymore.  Maybe I let it define me at one point in my life, but that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

            “You want people to know that there’s more to you than your name—that you’re more than your wealth, or heritage, or appearance, or—”

            “Scars,” Draco cut in pointedly.  “Yes, Potter, that’s exactly what I want.  I would think you of all people would understand that feeling.”

            Harry was stunned.  Yes of course he knew that feeling; he had grown up with that feeling and it had hounded him his entire life.  The Dursleys had hated him for who he was, even before he knew exactly what it was that they were so afraid of. Then as soon as he realized he was a wizard, everyone he had ever met had expected something from him. He was either the Golden Boy, the savior of the wizarding world, a bastard child, a failure, or simply someone to ogle at and whisper about in the hallways.  But no matter what anyone’s opinion of him was, the fact remained that they all revolved around who Harry was supposed to be, what he was supposed to do, or what he was made to become.  Very few people looked at him and saw Harry Potter as the individual he was, as a person who had a personality, goals, and ideas all his own that were in no way dictated by a scar. 

            “Yeah,” Harry replied slowly, looking down into his mug as he did so. “I know exactly what you mean.”

            Silence fell over the two wizards once again.  Occasionally they would make eye contact before Harry went back to staring out the window and Draco observed the scratches on the surface of the wooden table.  After about ten minutes of this silence, Harry spoke.

            “For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been expected to act in a certain way or be a certain kind of person because of how people saw me. Even before I knew that I was a wizard and that everyone had all these expectation for me, my aunt and uncle decided who I was based on how they felt about my parents.  I didn’t even know why they were treating me the way they were until I got my letter from Hogwarts, I just assumed I must have done something to deserve being ridiculed and punished.  It had never even crossed my mind that they were treating me a certain way based on their own irrational fears and opinions.  Then I found out who I was, and instead of people wanting to get to know me for who I was, they met me with ideas already formed about who I was and how I should be.  It was even worse because I barely had any knowledge of the magical world so I looked like a complete idiot to most people.   I mean, how could ‘famous Harry Potter’ not know about Quidditch or Lord Voldemort—”

            Draco flinched.

            “—But the worst part was how people already decided what I was going to like or dislike.  Who I was going to be because of my parents, my father, and because of some stupid destiny I didn’t even ask for!  People never asked to get to know Harry, just the Potter boy with his scar.”

            Draco sat still, staring at Harry with his mouth agape.  He couldn’t recall Harry ever speaking to him so much before without a hint of wariness or irritation in his voice.  He was being completely honest with him because…because….he trusted Draco?  He knew Draco would understand?  Hoped he would understand?  The way Harry was looking at him now made him realize that how things proceeded between the two of them depended greatly on how Draco chose to respond to Harry’s confession. It was a test to see if Draco honestly wanted to hear about how Harry was feeling, what he thought, and if Draco actually wanted to get to know Harry without the scar and the demanding destiny. He bit his lip, trying to come up with the right words before speaking again.

            “From the time I was old enough to walk, my father drilled me to become the perfect Malfoy heir.  If I was to bring honor to the family name then I would have to learn to walk like a Malfoy, talk like a Malfoy, think like a Malfoy, and behave like a Malfoy. I had to imagine that the whole world was watching me every moment, assessing my choices and my actions. One false move and not only would I bring dishonor to the Malfoy name, I would shame my father and mother, proving them to also be failures as Malfoys.  Nothing but the best was accepted from me and I was expected to take on the Malfoy beliefs and values as my own, no questions asked. I remember my father trying to teach me how just because I was a Malfoy, I was automatically better than some of the other boys I grew up with.  At first I couldn’t comprehend how money and my name alone meant that I was allowed to step over other people -even my own friends- in order to get to the top—to the be the best.  But my father could be very…persuasive when he wanted to be and I learned quickly not to question him.”

            Harry winced.  He wasn’t completely sure, but any sort of persuasion that came from Lucius Malfoy probably wasn’t the most ethical form of compromise and Harry seriously doubted he would change his methods just because his son was involved. 

            “So you just, gave in?”

            “What other choice did I have?” Malfoy spat out angrily.  “I was a little kid, all I wanted was to make my father proud of me, for him to notice me.  As far as I could tell there was no other way to be.  I either had to be the perfect son my father wanted or leave the family as a disgrace and an outcast.  Now, you ask any ten year old what they would do in that situation and I bet you almost all of them would choose to stay, no matter what sacrifices they would have to make. We can’t all be noble and righteous like you!”

            Harry flinched.  He had not expected such an aggressive reaction from Draco, but it made sense. It was his childhood, his life, part of Draco that they were dissecting.  Most people would get defensive talking about something that personal, especially if they felt as though they were being attacked. 

            “I’m sorry Draco, I wasn’t trying to make you feel like I was judging you. I don’t pretend to be hero or righteous. I just happen to make stupid decisions a lot of the time.  I honestly can’t say that I wouldn’t do exactly what you did if I had been in that situation. It’s unfair and something no kid should ever have to go through.  I’m sorry you did.”

            “It’s okay,” Draco mumbled, breaking eye contact to stare out into the rain. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I just don’t normally like talking about myself.”

            “Neither do I.  I usually try to avoid it all costs.  No one really wants to listen to what I have to say.  They just want to hear what they expect me to tell them.  Before I open my mouth half the time their mind is already made up.”

            “What about your friends,” Draco asked skeptically.  Surely Granger and the Weasel knew Potter well enough to listen to what he had to say.

            Harry blinked, obviously startled.  “Ron and Hermione are great, they really are.  But they have to put up with me and the attention I attract form others wherever we go.  I think they get tired of it sometimes and I can’t blame them.  Not many people would choose to be friends with someone who everyone is constantly watching.  Either they get pushed to the side like they don’t matter, or they get dragged into rumors and gossip that have nothing to do with them.  It’s not the most attractive situation,” Harry smiled darkly.

            Draco felt a pang in his chest.  No matter what complications had befallen Harry he had always assumed that the golden trio was an unbreakable force.  To be honest, he had always been a little jealous of Harry for having such loyal friends. Blaise was really the only person Draco felt he could count on for anything.  Pansy was good when it came to alcohol and sex and Crabbe and Goyle were good company if you like oppressive silence, but Draco never felt had had ever really _belonged_ to a group before. Some called him the Prince of Slytherins, but his court was comprised less of confidants and more of a group of minions he could gather and control to help him carry out plots of adventure and splendor…well if by “splendor” you meant organizing ways for the Slytherins to be at the top of every social event Hogwarts had to offer. What could he say? Slytherins had a thing for being dapper and dressing to impress. 

            “But they care about you, right?  I mean they’ve been with you through everything.  If you guys hadn’t been as lucky as you have been, they could have been expelled…or—”

            “I know what could have happened,” Harry ground through gritted teeth. “You don’t think I’m aware of what danger simply being involved with me means for them?  For anyone who gets too close to me?  Do you think I like that feeling?  Do you think I take pride in being able to single-handedly wreck everything I touch because of situations I can’t control?”

            Draco was completely taken aback.

            “Harry I—”

            “What? You didn’t mean to remind me what a danger I am to anyone who comes near me? That I do nothing but bring problems to people and drag them down with me?”

            “No, that’s not what I meant Harry.  You’re taking this the wrong way.  I was trying to say that—”

            “That what?  That I’m a train wreck? That I’m better off without other people around because all I do is make things complicated? You know what, thank you Mister Malfoy. I have learned _so_ much about myself today.  Quite an enlightening experience.”

            Before Malfoy could respond, Harry had jumped up and walked out of the café. Draco looked around, utterly stunned. He caught the eye of the blue-haired barista and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

            “You might want to go a little easy on him.  Seems like he’s been through the ringer a couple times.”

            “And just what the hell am I supposed to do about that?”

            She smirked.

            “Well you got yourself into this situation, right? I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

            “You emotional _people_ ,” Draco screamed, throwing his hands in the air and slamming the door behind him as he walked back out into the rain.


	10. Not dead yet

LOVLIES--I AM NOT DEAD AND NEITHER IS THIS STORY. I will be updating in 2 days MAX. I decided to transfer schools so paperwork, loans, etc have been insane, my friend is having major surgery and my girlfriend is a nursing student so seeing her is wonderful when I can because she's so busy. PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON ME. I'M WRITING AS SOON AS I GET OFF WORK THIS AFTERNOON!!!!!!


	11. FILLER I'M BACK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK GUYS HOPE YOU HAVEN'T GIVEN UP ON ME

GUYS I’M BACK!!! SUPER CRAZINESS HAS ENSUED BUT I AM BACK AND READY TO FINISH THIS STORY SO I CAN START A NEW ONE!!   
NEW CHAPTER TO BE UP BY SUNDAY NIGHT.  
I HOPE YOU ALL HAVEN’T GIVEN UP ON ME!  
ALL THE HUGS AND LOVE SENT YOUR WAY LOVELIES  
MOLLS


	12. Chapter 12

Okay, so fun story—I reread the chapters I had in the works aaaaaaand I hated them. SO we’re running with a new premise for the next chapter. Hope you guys like it anyway!  
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Draco awoke with a gasp, his chest heaving and the blankets tangled hopelessly around him. This was the third time this week he had relived that stupid memory in his dreams. It shouldn’t matter anymore that he never got up the courage to find Harry and explain himself after their disaster of a date. Or apologize. Or ask him out on a different, better date that would end without someone storming off angrily; after all, that date had been ten years ago. Draco threw the covers off of himself and stood up. His cat, Cassie, stared at him from her perch on his dresser across the room. Her face plainly said that she was getting tired of being kicked out of bed by her master’s senseless tossing and turning and the sooner Draco could resolve his petty human problems, the better. Draco shook his head and wandered down the hall to the kitchen to fill the teakettle and put it on the stove. As he waited for the water to heat up, Draco wished he could tell Cassie that he wasn’t enjoying his sleepless nights any more than she was. Frankly, it made his shifts at St. Mungo’s almost impossible to deal with. Twelve-hour shifts were bad enough, but when you added on the lack of sleep and the inability to get Harry Potter out of his head, Draco was surprised he was still functioning well enough to treat his patients without killing someone.

Harry Potter. Draco hadn’t been this preoccupied with the Boy Who Lived in years. Draco had left Hogwarts a month or two following his disaster date with the Chosen One and had never looked back. He continued to remain out of contact with his family and had actually been studying for his healer exams in France when the final battle too place—making him completely unaware of his parents’ contribution to the destruction that took place at Hogwarts. Once Draco realized that he wanted to be a healer and that his relationship with Harry was likely to never grow beyond distrust and anger, he chose to leave Hogwarts and pursue his studies at one of France’s best wizarding medical schools. His marks had been high enough for him to be granted early admission and he had spent every moment of his time there studying and keeping up with his classmates; many of whom were several years older and had more experience in healing than Draco did at the time. His dedication paid off, however, and Draco was able to leave school as the youngest certified healer in three decades. He was immediately offered a job at France’s largest medical hospital and began his work in the medical field passionately. He had stayed in France for about 10 years upon graduation, living and working as a full-time healer. Draco loved the anonymity that came with working in France. Everyone paid attention to his skills and his accomplishments rather than focusing on his family name or the news of his parents’ trials.

  
Draco had only moved back to London two months ago after St. Mungo’s offered him a position as one of their head healers. As much as Draco adored France, the pay was better in London and he decided it was time to return to his roots and find a way to build a life for himself back home. Since he had returned to London, he had been plagued with nightmares and disturbing dreams almost every night. Although he hadn’t spoken to his parents in years, they continuously haunted his dreams on a regular basis. Draco could only thank the gods that he had bought a flat in muggle London rather than attempting to move back into the old Malfoy Manor.

Although Draco had been disowned by his father before leaving for France, Lucius had been unable to secure a new heir for the Malfoy title before he and Narcissa had been sent to Azkaban and Draco was left with the fortune and Malfoy Manor after all. Draco now had enough money to keep him from ever needing to work another day in his life and could return to the manor whenever he liked. But work was Draco’s passion. It had kept him sane and focused during every difficult moment in his life and had given him purpose when he was unsure of who he was. Becoming a healer had allowed him to overcome his name and become a respected member of the wizarding community through his own hard work and dedication. As hard as the job was, Draco wouldn’t trade being a healer for anything else in the world and this discovery made it easy for him to place the Malfoy fortune into his savings for a later time and put the manor up for sale. Although he hadn’t heard from any interested buyers, Draco was comforted by the knowledge that he would never have to set foot in his old home again if that’s what he wished.

The teakettle whistled shrilly, pulling Draco from his thoughts and back into his kitchen and his desperate need for a cup of tea. Draco pulled his largest mug from the cabinet, put a teabag inside, and poured the steaming water out of the kettle. If France had done nothing else, it had certainly given Draco an appreciation for doing certain tasks without magic like cooking for and keeping his home tidy and clean. His flat was simple, comfortable, and elegant. Draco made sure to only fill the place with what he and Cassie needed to lounge comfortably from room to room, but he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t gone a little overboard with his bed and the living room couch. Draco may not need a lot, but a comfortable place to sleep and curl up at the end of a long day was a must as far as he was concerned and worth the extra cost. Of all the things he could be fussy about, Draco felt this wasn’t asking for too much.

  
Cassie meowed from atop the kitchen table, watching master steep his tea before sitting down in front of her and scratching behind her ears the way she liked best. Cassie had been one of 7 kittens born outside the hospital where Draco worked in France. After one of Draco’s partners took the family in and placed adoption notices around the hospital, Cassie was the only kitten left in the litter who hadn’t found a home. Draco understood what it felt like to be an outsider and eventually his soft spot got the better of him and he took Cassie in as his own. She was a handful, knocking things over and purposely pushing things out of place just to annoy him, but Draco could always talk to her when things were on his mind. Cassie didn’t seem to mind listening despite the fact that her biggest concern was finding new ways to leave claw marks on his furniture that Draco wouldn’t be able to easily spell away.  
“I just don’t get it Cas,” he murmured, running his fingers through Cassie’s orange fluff. “Why am I suddenly dreaming about him? Why is it that since I’ve moved back here Harry fucking Potter is always showing up?”

  
Cassie looked back at him with large amber eyes in an almost accusatory fashion.

  
“Okay fine,” Draco relented, “perhaps he’s not showing up per-se but everywhere I go, I see him. Or some sign of him. I expect him to be around every corner or in every shop I go to. I just can’t stop thinking about him.” Cassie made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a snort. “Oh I see how it is,” Draco growled, glowering at his cat. “You think I still like him and that being back on London is making me go crazy. Is that it?”

  
Cassie stared at him, deadpan.

  
Draco groaned, “You’re no help at all! Remind me again why I talk to you?” Cassie sniffed and turned away from him. Without so much as a backwards glance, she leapt off the table and left the kitchen, probably to make herself at home on Draco’s bed and claw a few tears in his expensive feather pillows. Draco let his head thump against the table. It was a quarter past three in the morning and he had to start getting ready for work at five. There was no point pretending that he would be able to fall back to sleep, at this point the idea of sleep was pointless.  
Draco took another sip of his tea before summoning a pen and a piece of paper over to him. If he wasn’t going to get any rest tonight, he may as well wake someone else up too. Or at least ensure they got his letter first thing this morning. Draco almost felt guilty for sending a note this late—or early—but he was sure Hermione would understand. She usually did when it came to his odd sleep patterns and neurotic thoughts. Not for the first time since he’d been back in London, Draco marveled at how crazy it was that he and Hermione Weasley-Granger had actually become friends. Hermione was currently the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and was expected to be the youngest individual to ever be considered for the position of Minster of Magic. Hermione was also the first woman to ever be seriously considered to head the ministy, and her level of involvement in all areas of wizarding government proved her determination beyond a shadow of a doubt. At this point she was practically Minister Shacklebolt’s assistant—helping with meetings, research, and giving her opinions on everything from werewolf rights to auror rankings. That was how on Draco’s first night back in London he received an owl with a message that read:

  
_Dear Draco,_  
_I hope your trip back to London went smoothly and that you are settling into your new home comfortably. On behalf of the Minister, myself, and St. Mungo’s, I cannot begin to tell you how excited we are to have you working in London. St. Mungo’s is lucky to have you as a healer and I want to personally make sure that you are treated with all the respect you deserve and have as little trouble as possible adjusting to your new position. If you don’t mind, I would love to stop by tomorrow evening to speak with you. I find meeting in person helps to clear up any misunderstandings and will help things run as smoothly as possible. Please respond by owl as soon as you are able._

_Sincerely,_  
_Hermione Weasley-Granger_

And that was how Draco and Hermione ended up spending an entire evening drinking wine and catching up with one another. Draco told her all about France. How much he loved the culture, how much he had learned from the other healers, and the different experiences he had had as the youngest healer on his team. Hermione told him about her career moving up through the ministry’s ranks, how she married the ginger weasel, and how their first child, Rose, had just turned two. It turned out that they had a great deal in common and were able to hold both intellectual and personal conversations. Draco appreciated that Hermione didn’t pry into any part of his social life he didn’t feel comfortable discussing. She was also very good at listening to the whole story before giving her opinion and would usually ask Draco questions that helped him better understand himself and whatever happened to be going on at the time. That first evening turned into a ritual for the both of them and now Draco considered Hermione to be his closest friend. They met up several times a week for drinks or dinner and would spend the evenings talking about work, family, or, in Draco’s case, the latest man he had taken to bed. Hermione had no problem with his sexual orientation and seemed to find his fast and furious exploits with attractive men highly amusing. The only rule they had between them was an unspoken one they established their first evening together.  
As Hermione had been putting on her coat to head home she abruptly turned to Draco and said “He’s doing alright, just so you know.” Draco’s heart stopped beating.

  
“Who?”

“Oh don’t give me that innocent look Draco. We both know you’ve been holding back from asking me about Harry all night. We both you two had something special before you left for France.”

  
Draco laughed bitterly. “If by ‘special’ you mean a total disaster that left us always fighting and hating each other than, yes. It was very special.”  
Hermione looked at him for a long moment. “You two were kids. You had a lot going on and emotionally neither one of you knew how to deal with your feelings. But I think we both know that you and Harry were always drawn to each other—there was always something there.”  
Draco closed his eyes tiredly. “I don’t want to talk about him Hermione. I don’t want to go back to the past; there’s no point. I’ve done everything I can to overcome my past and I’m not going to start making exceptions for some guy I liked ten years ago. He knew where I was and he never came to find me. Never owled. Nothing. I’ve been with enough guys since then to know that I don’t need Harry to be okay. There are plenty of other guys out there.”

  
“Have you been okay or have you been happy?”

Draco said nothing. Hermione sighed. “Well when—IF—you want to talk about it, you know I’m here for you.”

Draco nodded and opened the door for her to leave. As Hermione was walking out the door, Draco could have sworn he heard Hermione say, “He misses you, you know,” but maybe that was just the wind playing tricks on his mind.

Draco reread his message for the tenth time. Not that it really mattered. Hermione would meet with him whenever she could, but for some reason, the words he had written seemed funny even to his own eyes.

  
_Dear Hermione,_  
_I hope this doesn’t wake you up at this ungodly hour but if it does, please know that I send my sincerest apologies. I was hoping we could meet for lunch or dinner later today. I haven’t been sleeping well and have been preoccupied by strange dreams that are making it difficult for me to concentrate at the hospital. I’m hoping some wine and your infamous wisdom will potentially shed some light onto these troubling thoughts._  
_Your owl should know where to find me at the hospital._  
_Best,_  
_Draco_

  
Once his owl had taken the letter to Hermione, Draco looked at the clock. It was four-thirty. He may as well shower and go to work early, take a look at some of his cases for the day before his shift started. Draco stood and stretched, draining the last of his tea before turning on his coffee pot and walking back to his bedroom. There he stripped and started his shower running. Once Draco stepped under the cascading water, he groaned in delight. It felt so good to have the hot water running over his skin and without thinking, Draco turned the water heat up higher. As he lathered his hair with shampoo and began meticulously working his fingers through the long, silky strands, Draco tried to ignore the nagging feeling of exhaustion starting to creep into his bones. It took a great deal of effort not to stay in the shower all morning but once Draco was out, he dried his hair and scrutinized his face in the mirror. He winced as he saw that at the purple shadows that had been forming under his eyes for the past few weeks looked about three shades darker then when he had last looked. No time to focus on that, his mind said as Draco pulled on his lime green robes, you have a long day ahead of you. Draco tousled his hair into the “sexy but not trying to be sexy” look, poured a mug of coffee, and apparated to work, bracing himself for the day ahead.

  
Draco wasn’t usually wrong, but today he was starting to wish he could be wrong a little more often. After five new cases were dropped onto his desk, seven check-ins with patients he had been working with before today, and one emergency poison consultation, Draco was about ten seconds away from either collapsing into a ball of exhaustion on the floor or strangling the next person who tried to give him something to do. Fortunately, Draco’s interns and fellow healers seemed to understand that today was not the day to ask for any extra favors and for the first time in three weeks, Draco left his shift when he was actually scheduled to. He supposed he should be moody more often, then he might not get stuck with all the extra case notes the other head healers didn’t want to deal with. Hermione was already waiting for him at the muggle pub two blocks away from St. Mungo’s, a glass of wine in her hand as she scanned the room for Draco’s thin, lithe figure. She smiled warmly at him as he sat down, gesturing for a waiter to come and take Draco’s drink order.

  
“Vodka and cranberry juice please,” Draco murmured to the waiter, looking up at him through his long lashes.

  
The waiter, a young Italian man with dark hair and eyes, seemed rooted to the spot as he ogled Draco. “O-of course Sir,” he mumbled, standing up straighter as if he was trying to draw himself out of a trance. “I’ll be right back with that.”

  
Hermione rolled her eyes as the young boy practically dashed away from their table. “Honestly Draco, what you do to young men is hardly fair. That boy never stood a chance!”

  
“Oh they don’t have to just be young Hermione,” Draco replied with a wink, “I’ve had many older men under my spell and in my bed too.”

  
“As much as I love to hear the dirty details of your many exploits,” Hermione chuckled, “I believe you called me here for a more pressing reason tonight.”

  
Draco nodded as the weight he’d been carrying with him all day settled on his shoulders once again. At that moment, his drink came and Draco decided to take a long sip in order to buy him some more time. Hermione would want a full explanation and Draco knew he would be subjected to several questions once his story was through.

  
“Yeah, I just, I needed to talk to someone about what’s been going on,” he said tiredly. Hermione sipped her wine patiently and remained silent throughout Draco’s entire account of his dreams and his inability to get a certain savior of the wizarding world off his mind. “I mean, I’ve always had dreams about my parents…well more nightmares to be honest, but that’s nothing new. They’ve gotten worse since I moved back, but at least I’m used to them. But these other dreams…I can’t just forget about them when I wake up and go about my day like I normally do. He’s in the back of my mind all day Hermione, and I can’t get him out no matter what I do. I haven’t thought about him in ten years, and now it’s like he’s always in my head no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

  
Hermione shook her head, looking thoughtful. “Really Draco? You haven’t thought about Harry at all for ten years? That seems a little unlikely to me, especially since you have yet to settle down with anyone for more than a night or two.”

  
“I don’t like to commit. I don’t have time for it,” Draco replied heatedly. “My love life, or lack thereof, has nothing to do with Harry bloody Potter.”

  
“Maybe you need some closure. A chance to sit down and talk to him like adults. Neither of you are the same person you once were, you’ve both changed drastically.”

  
“Talk to him about what, Hermione? For all I know he hasn’t thought of me in years. He’s probably settled down with some handsome, successful bloke and wants nothing to do with me.” Draco knew this wasn’t true. If Harry Potter had finally settled down, the Prophet and every other newspaper would have had a field day. As it was, nothing of Harry’s love life had been reported since he had come out of the closet all those years ago.

  
Hermione laughed. “Well I can tell you one things for sure—Harry is anything but ‘settled down.’ Honestly I don’t think he even knows what that word means. And I think it’s also safe to say that he hasn’t forgotten about you.”

“Why? What has he said?” Draco asked, leaning forward intently. As if he realized how his reaction must look, he sat back and took a sip of his drink, feigning disinterest. “I mean, not that I care, but why would you say he hasn’t forgotten me? Still enamored with my exceedingly good looks and charm?”

Hermione snorted. “I thought we had a rule that I wasn’t to tell you anything about Harry or his life, no matter what. Are you changing your mind on me Mr. Malfoy?”

“Rules can change sometimes,” Draco replied defensively, he cheeks flushing pink. “And besides, it was my rule, so doesn’t that imply that I can change it whenever I wish?”  
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “And where is the fun or the fairness in that? I have half a mind not to tell you anything at this point love. Maybe then you’ll actually do something instead of overthinking everything like you always do.” Draco huffed indignantly. “But I suppose,” Hermione said slowly, her eyes lighting up mischievously, “I could give you some information. For a price of course.”

Draco stared at his friend for a moment before his face broke into a smile. “Seriously Granger, it’s a damned shame you were sorted into Gryffindor. You would have made such a good Slytherin.”

Hermione winked. “Flattery will get you nowhere I’m afraid my dear Draco. Do we have a deal?"

Draco scrutinized his friend across the table. He knew Hermione wouldn’t back down and give him any information unless he agreed to her terms. Draco was willing to agree, he was just afraid to ask what price he’d have to pay if he did. And rightfully so. If he had learned anything since returning to London, it was that Hermione didn’t do anything without a reason. “Tell me what the price is first,” he countered.

“If I give you information on Harry, you have to take him as your date to Ron’s and my Halloween party this month.”

Draco, who had been mid-sip when Hermione was talking, began to violently choke. He spluttered, spitting a great deal of vodka and cranberry juice over himself and the table as he struggled to regain his ability to breathe. “Hermione,” he finally choked out, “I can’t do that. I haven’t talked to the man in ten years. I can’t just show up out of nowhere and ask him to be my date to a party!”

Hermione stared back at him, deadpan. “There are two weeks until Halloween. I’d suggest you use your time wisely and ask him out to dinner before the party then.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Really Draco, you know me better than that,” Hermione laughed. “Don’t try to talk your way out of this one. Either we have a deal, or we don’t.”

Draco knew that he should walk away. He should decline Hermione’s proposal, be sensible, and go home to his cat and his bed and forget the whole crazy notion of speaking to Harry Potter. Forgetting Harry Potter altogether would be the truly sensible thing to do—Merlin knew Draco could happily find and bed any man of his choosing with far less trouble or complications. But Harry Potter had always pushed him to be anything but sensible with his decisions and before Draco could stop himself, he heard his voice reply, “Fine, but you better give me some good information for all the trouble I’m going to have to go through for it.”

Hermione pushed her hair back from her face and smiled wickedly. “Trust me Draco darling,” she said, “I will.”

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Well there we go! Plot going in a new direction!!! What do you think? Comments, suggestions, etc. are always welcomed! I’d love to hear from you guys and thank you to all the returning readers who never gave up on me! I’m excited to be back! Lots of love being sent your way dearies!!!


	13. Chapter 13

Here we go, next chapter!!!  I want to thank you all for your comments and feedback. I know some of you were hoping I’d stick with the original plot and I’m sorry for the change-up. Hopefully I can make a Hogwarts-based Drarry story at some point but until then I hope you enjoy where this one goes all the same!

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            “Hey Boss? Boss….? OI BOSS!”

            Harry jumped awake, nearly toppling out of his chair as he did so. Looking up, he saw the snickering face of Allie Sternbright, one of his fellow aurors.  Allie was a bit of a prodigy.  At the young age of twenty she was working under Harry per his request, learning and helping with the top investigations the ministry handled. She was a damn good fighter, smart, and a major pain in the ass.  Working with Allie over the past three years, Harry had come to think of her as a little sister, which meant that in this moment he had never wanted to wipe the impish smile off her laughing face more.

“Damn it, Al,” he grumbled, attempting to fix the piles of paperwork that were now covering the floor like a new carpet. “You couldn’t have stuck with just prodding me awake?”

            Allie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because we both know how well _that_ strategy works.  Honestly Boss this is the best way to get you up and, frankly, you deserve it.  I told you last week that there would be hell to pay if I caught you working at ridiculous hours of the night and what do you know?” she feigned surprise as she glanced at the clock on the wall behind Harry’s desk.  It is one-thirty in the _morning_ on _Saturday_ and you’re still here. Seriously Boss, the weekends are when you go home and at least pretend you have a life outside of this office.”

            Harry glared at her, doing is best to refocus on the case file he’d been filling out before he had fallen asleep.  He knew better than to try to ignore Allie though.  She wouldn’t leave until she had said her piece.

“I’m head of the department Al, I have to take care of these files and it’ll go a long way to making my week easier if they’re done for Kingsley by Monday morning.  Besides,” he said glancing up at his co-worker, “shouldn’t you be out doing something reckless I wouldn’t approve of?  Hey..!” Harry yelled as a particularly thick file was thrown at his head.

            “If you’d open your eyes, you’d see that I _have_ been out of this office tonight.”

            Harry spared a second glance and realized that the tight, black dress Allie was sporting was definitely not something she would wear around the office. Her long purple hair which was usually tied up in a knot at the top of her head hung around her hips and she was wearing heels instead of worn-out combat boots.  “Really?  I thought you came in to work looking like living, breathing, sex every day.”

Allie punched him in the arm. Hard.  “Makes you almost wish you weren’t gay, huh?”

Harry snorted loudly. “Almost, Al, almost.” Harry took a moment to stretch and look around.  He could see the cubicles outside of his office were all completely empty. At this hour it was likely that he, Allie, and the security guards were the only ones left in the ministry. Harry had long ago given up the idea that he should leave Friday night and hit the pubs like everyone else or go home early for the weekend.  What was the point when there was no one waiting for him at home and he had plenty of paperwork to keep him company at his desk?  But even he had to admit that falling asleep on his desk when he wasn’t working a major case was a new low for him and the look on Allie’s face plainly said that she wasn’t going to leave unless she was dragging him behind her. “Alright, alright I’m coming, just let me grab my things.”  Allie smiled triumphantly and stood back to allow Harry to grab his jacket and briefcase off the couch that sat across from his desk.  As he was packing some case files into his briefcase to take home with him, he heard Allie sigh dramatically.

            “Seriously Boss, don’t you have anything in your life besides work? Why don’t you go get wasted? Meet a strapping young lad and finally get laid, the whole office knows you need it.  Oh c’mon it’s obvious Harry,” she added as Harry choked in horror. “You clearly need to get some. All you do is work and babysit for your goddaughter and I know you say that’s all you need,” Allie continued, vocally tramping down on the protest Harry was about to bring forth, “but let’s be honest. You need more in life. A boyfriend, a partner, love, _sex_.  I mean do you even jerk off?”

            “That’s it,” Harry said grabbing the pixie-like girl by the wrist and dragging her to the lifts with him.  “No more talk about my love life. Ever.”

            “There’s not much to talk about,” Allie mumbled besides him, shooting Harry an unapologetic smirk as he glared at her.  “You know I’m just looking out for you Boss. Half the time you look like you slept at your desk and don’t tell me you haven’t,” she warned, “because saying you slept on the couch doesn’t work as an excuse either.   I just want you to be happy.  You’re a great guy and I don’t want you to look back in twenty years when you’re old and gross and say to yourself: _damn I completely put everything on hold for my job and now I don’t have anything worthwhile in my life.  I never even got laid like Allie said I should_.” Allie turned her big, hazel eyes on Harry and pouted, looking like a puppy that had just been told it wasn’t allowed to chew on its’ master’s socks.  Harry tried to stare her down, but knew even before he started that the attempt was in vain.  Allie had him wrapped around her tiny pixie pinky finger and they both knew it.

            “Fine,” he sighed dramatically as the lift came to a halt in the ministry’s lobby. “I will try to work less. _Try_ ,” he emphasized as Allie squealed and spun in circles around him, “I make no promises.”

            “Perfect, and I know just where you can start.  I’m throwing a party at my place tomorrow night—or I guess later tonight technically—and you’re coming.  No buts,” she announced as Harry opened his mouth to protest. “I promise it’ll be fun. I’ll even drag lots of cute, single guys out for you too.”

            Harry knew there was no use arguing at this point.  “Okay Allie, what time?”

            “Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.  Wear something sexy to accent your ass, you don’t do that enough. Actually I don’t trust you to dress yourself properly.  I’ll come over to your place around seven and make sure you’re presentable.  I will not have all my hard work go to waste because you don’t understand how to make yourself look good for other men. Alright glad we have that all set up, see you tomorrow Harry, ciao!”  Allie pranced away before turning on the spot and disapparating with a loud crack.

            Harry stood rooted to the spot.  Somehow he had just been shanghaied into going to a party tomorrow night. Not only that but Allie, little Allie, would be coming over to help him _dress._ He sighed. This was not what he had had in mind when he promised Allie that he would try to get out more. Honestly Harry had been thinking more along the lines of grabbing a bite to eat with Luna one night or maybe hitting a muggle club to pick up a guy for the night. 

Harry had learned a long time ago that dating wizards never led to anything good.  Everything was much easier with a muggle who didn’t know who we was or where he came from.  They could get drunk, have a shag, and be on their way by the next morning, no questions asked.  If Harry were to date a wizard, he would have to get to know them and they would have to get to know him. There would be questions about ‘where this is going,’ about a commitment, and Harry had learned a long time ago that most men who knew the real Harry just wanted to see their faces on the front page of the newspaper.  They knew who they thought Harry was, but never took the time to really get to know him as a person beyond the title Saviour of the Wizarding World.

He sighed. As long as he showed up to the party tomorrow, Allie couldn’t complain.  He’d go, have a few drinks, talk to people for a few hours, and then head home before anyone noticed he was gone.  Easy. Simple.  Harry ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that Allie was a trained auror until he found that her puppy dog eyes and led him exactly where he didn’t want to go. He really had to learn to start saying no to her. 

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            Draco sighed as he walked into his flat.  He had just come back from dinner with Hermione and after several cocktails and some new information on the Savior of the Wizarding World there was nothing Draco wanted to do more than have a glass of wine and promptly fall face-first onto his bed.  Draco wandered into the bedroom and exchanged the jeans and sweater he had worn to the muggle pub for a pair of comfortable black sweatpants.  Cassie stretched on the bed and mewled a welcome to her master before the two walked back into the kitchen. 

Drinking with Cassie at the end of a long week had become a tradition for Draco recently. He found that if he heated up a saucer of milk and splashed a little bit of firewhisky into it, Cassie was more than happy to share the couch and cuddle for a few hours while he read. Of course Draco Malfoy would never admit to “cuddling” with anyone, but Cassie was usually too tipsy by the end of the evening to spill his secret so Draco wasn’t worried. Just as he and Cassie had settled down on the couch comfortably, a loud crack came from the kitchen, causing both Draco and Cassie to tumble off the couch in shock and land in a heap on the floor.

            “Draco darling,” Pansy Parkinson called as she marched into the living room, “it’s been _forever_. I’ve missed you so much my dear.”

            “Pansy have you ever heard of knocking, or I don’t know, _asking_ before you simply barge into someone’s home unannounced?”   Draco pulled himself back onto the couch with as much dignity as he could muster and glared at the trying witch in front of him.

            “Well it’s your own fault for not answering any of my letters and for having your little secretary stop me from visiting you at work,” Pansy pouted. “Besides, you gave me access to your wards so I could come and go without all of the nonsense of formalities.” She joined Draco on the couch (Cassie had decided to occupy the armchair since it seemed like a safer place to sit) and summoned a wine glass for herself.  Pouring herself a liberal portion of wine, she sipped and stared at Draco over the rim of her glass, waiting for his response.

            Draco took a deep, calming breath and gulped a large portion of his owm wine. “I’m beginning to regret that decision more and more with each passing minute.  I ought to make you write a formal letter every time you feel like calling on me.”

            “Oh don’t be like that darling!  We haven’t gone out in _so_ long. It’s about time we had some fun together.”

            “Pans, you know I work crazy hours.  My shifts are almost never the same and by the time I come home I bloody exhausted. I just want to have a glass of wine _alone_ and then go to bed.”

            “You’re just saying that because you haven’t had a good shag lately,” Pansy retorted.  “Oh don’t give me that,” she said as Draco choked on his drink for the second time that evening. “We both know how you get when you haven’t had a pretty little rich boy in your bed to play with. It’s like your version of PMSing.”

            “I will have you know that I do no such thing,” said the blonde indignantly. He sat up straighter against the arm of the couch and haughtily stuck his nose in the air.  “Unlike you I just happen to be very busy saving lives these days and have no time for any such commitment—”

            Pansy, unable to contain herself, burst into a fit of cackling so loud that Cassie jumped off the armchair and hightailed it to the bedroom, hissing the entire way.  “Commitment my ass Draco, we both know that you don’t know the meaning of the word. What you’re trying to say is that you’ve been too busy to have some handsome man play with your cock and it’s putting you on edge.”  Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she watched Draco flush a dark pink.  “And I’ll have you know that I save just as many people each and every day as you do.”

            “Pans, you work in high-end fashion—you design and market clothes for God’s sake. How is that saving anyone?”

            “I’m saving them from a fashion disaster, my dear Draco, and I’ll have you know millions of lives have been changed because of the selfless work I do.”

            Draco snorted into his wine glass.  Pansy was many things—determined, stubborn, and ruthless just to name a few—but ‘selfless’ was one adjective that didn’t quite seem to fit onto the list. “Pans, really, I hate to be rude but I’m exhausted.  I just want to go to bed.  Is there anything in particular you came to tell me besides your opinion on my sex life?”

            “As a matter of fact there was,” she replied, smiling in a way that made Draco regret asking the question in the first place.  One of my colleagues knows of a _fantastic_ party that’s going on tomorrow night and I came here to personally make sure that you go.”

            Draco groaned.  Of course Pansy was here with some crazy idea to get him out of his flat.  When he thought about it there was really no other reason for her to barge in here at this hour.  Draco didn’t consider himself much a of a shut-in, but he had also been wary of large gatherings since returning to London.  While the bars, clubs, and parties of France had been open to the new Draco, part of him wasn’t so sure London would be willing to forget the old Draco.  That coupled with his insane hospital shifts had led to a quiet two months of just him, Cassie, work, Hermione, and occasionally her family’s company. It was a nice balance right now and even though Draco was exhausted most nights when he came home, he felt pleased with what he had accomplished at work or had enjoyed his time with Hermione. Draco had seen no reason to meddle with what was obviously working and while (as Pansy had obnoxiously pointed out) he could use a good shag, his libido wasn’t desperate enough to drive him out of his routine.

            “Honestly Draco, my friend says the girl who’s throwing the party knows what she’s doing.  She’s apparently some kind of legend when it comes to having a good time.”

            “Pans, this really isn’t a good weekend for me,” Draco began, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

            “Do you work this weekend?”

            “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

            “Do. You. Work. This. Weekend.” Pansy pressed, emphasizing each word. “As in, tomorrow and Sunday. Are you scheduled to go into the hospital those two days?”

            “Well no, this is my weekend off, but—”

            “Then it’s settled.  I will expect to see you at my home at eight so we can have a glass of wine before we go. And just to make sure you come,” she added, a devilish glint in her eye, “I can personally assure you that there will be more delicious men to choose from then you’ll know what to do with. You will be in homosexual heaven.” She blew him a quick kiss and before Draco could try and persuade her to let him off the hook, she disapparated from his living room and was gone.

            Shortly after Pansy’s departure, Cassie ambled back into the living room and jumped up on the couch next to Draco to finish her milk.  Her eyes were full of what he could only describe at kitty-esque gloating and she radiated smugness as she purred away contentedly from her spot opposite him on the couch.

            “Oh shove off,” Draco grumbled, finishing the last sip of his wine. He stood up and walked the glasses and the milk saucer into the kitchen, taking the bottle of wine with him as well. “It’s not like I’ve lost my touch with men.  Besides, it’s you who will be kicked out the bedroom tomorrow night when I bring someone home.”   Ignoring his companion’s affronted expression, Draco strode into his bedroom and buried himself beneath the covers.  Knowing Pansy as well as he did, there was no question in Draco’s mind that he was going to desperately need his sleep tonight.

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            “I’m not coming out and you can’t make me!”  Harry’s muffled shout came from behind his closet door. Allie rolled her eyes from where she was sprawled across his bed, throwing a pillow against the closed door.

            “Don’t be such a baby Harry!  I picked that outfit out _for_ you so there’s no way you could look anything less than fabulous.”

            “I wear these things to gay clubs, _muggle_ gay clubs Al,” Harry protested.  “I never bought them thinking people I knew would see me in them!”

            “Who said anything about you knowing someone at my party?” Allie asked innocently. A shoe came flying at her head from around the closet door.  “Okay, okay, people may know you, but they won’t _know_ you.  I didn’t invite anyone from the team, I promise.  It’s just a small group of friends I have from outside the office.”

            “Promise?”

            “Cross my heart and hope to have an angry dragon devour it whole, now will you _please_ let me see you?” Harry reluctantly walked out into his bedroom and almost dove back in as Allie squealed with delight. “I knew there was a gay playboy underneath that workaholic exterior!  C’mon lover-boy, we need to do something with your hair and throw some makeup on you.”  Twenty minutes and a great deal of cursing later, Allie stood back to admire her work. “I officially pronounce you shag-worthy my dear.  Go take a look at yourself!”

            Bracing himself for what he was about to see, Harry turned around to face is bathroom mirror.  If he was expecting something, it certainly wasn’t this.  Allie had dragged him into tight, black leather trousers that clung to his hips. This shirt was a ripped up tank top advertising a muggle rock band and it too was incredibly form-fitting—Harry was not used to have so much of his stomach exposed. Black boots were laced up his calves and somehow Allie had managed to turn his impossibly messy hair into a distressed work of art that now looked as if he had just rolled out of bed after having a lot of good sex.  Allie had also worked her magic on his eyes, which were now ringed with smoky black eyeliner, setting off their green color strikingly.  Harry turned to face his friend, stunned.

            “It’s a good thing you had your vision magically fixed.  Glasses suit your work look, but they would have only gotten in the way for you tonight.  Now c’mon and help me finish setting my place up before everyone arrives. You can thank me after you’ve been thoroughly shagged into next week.”  Without waiting for a response, Allie grabbed Harry by the arm and apparated them both to her home. 

            Harry had never been able to understand why his friend needed so much space when she lived by herself.  He himself had sold Grimmauld place soon after finishing his auror training because coming home to a huge empty house every night made him feel incredibly lonely. He was much happier in his cozy flat and it suited all of his bachelor needs perfectly. Allie on the other hand lived in a large Victorian-style home with so many rooms, Harry was certain that in the three years of their friendship he hadn’t even come close to seeing the inside of them all.  Allie said she kept the home because it was her parents’ and she wanted to raise a family there someday but Harry was more convinced she just liked having the space to throw crazy parties where she could host and be the center of attention. That was just Allie.

            Harry had to admit that Allie had really outdone herself tonight. Her living room and kitchen were connected so that the entire first floor of the house looked like one enormous room. With the dim colored lights, loud music, and magical fog swimming over the floor, it looked exactly like what you would expect find at one of today’s more popular wizarding clubs. She had even transformed her kitchen into a fully-stocked bar, complete with sexy bartenders who all followed Harry with their eyes as he walked by.

  Harry followed Allie’s instructions about what final sound and lighting spells to cast while she went upstairs to get dressed and then fled to wait for her return in the nearest corner.  As Harry waited for Allie to reappear, people began to stream through the front door.  Within forty-five minutes at least a hundred witches and wizards were getting drinks and starting to fill up the dance floor.  When Allie finally appeared at the bottom of the staircase, Harry pounced on her.

            “A couple people, Al?  A couple people?! Is that what you call this,” he gestured to the dance floor that was continuing to fill up with more and more party-goers even as he spoke.

            “Well,” Allie smiled impishly, “I had to make sure you had your pick of the litter for whoever you wanted to take home tonight, didn’t I?”

            “I’m going to kill you,” Harry growled as anxiety fluttered in his stomach. Muggle clubs were easy; no one came up to talk to him unless they wanted to flirt.  Now Harry had to deal with people staring and trying to make conversation with him just because he was Harry Potter.

            “Harry relax,” Allie soothed.  “It’s dark, you look amazing, no one is going to pick you out of this crowd unless they want to snog you.  Just go get a drink and try to have fun.”  Without waiting for a reply, Allie danced out of Harry’s grasp and into the arms of a slender dark-haired man.  Before Harry could call out to her again, she had disappeared into the sea of dancers and was gone.

Harry made his way back into the kitchen to get something to drink. He ordered several shots of tequila and proceeded to down them all one after the other before turning to scrutinize the dance floor.  Allie hadn’t been lying. Everywhere Harry looked he saw every kind of man he could ever want to snog.  Muscled, lean, tan, pale, dark haired, and light haired men in all forms of undress teased him underneath the lights.  Deciding that he may as well make the best of his evening, Harry took a deep breath and waded into the middle of the dance floor.

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            Draco and Pansy arrived at the party by nine o’clock.  Pansy had insisted on arriving once everything was well under way and had used the extra time to change her outfit about seven different times. She finally settled on something when Draco said that as the flamingly gay man, it was rather sad he had settled on his attire ages ago and was still waiting for Pansy to make up her mind. It had gotten him a high-heel thrown at his face, but Draco decided it was a small price to pay in order to get Pansy moving.  Draco looked up at the large house they apparated to.  While it seemed very old, there was no doubt that this building was well looked after. It wasn’t quite as grand as the Malfoy estate, but Draco found he liked the architecture of the large building all the same.  He could feel the bass of the music pulsing under his shoes before they even reached the front door and once Pansy had swung it open, he had no trouble understanding why.

            “Told you this was going to be a good night!” Pansy called above the din. “Let’s grab some drinks!” Taking Draco by the hand, the two wound their way through the thrashing bodies on the dance floor until they reached what Draco assumed to be the host’s kitchen.  He used the word “assumed” because where you would have expected a stove, refrigerator, and other kitchenware, was a large, circular bar supplied with just about every kind of muggle and magical liquor imaginable. Three scantily clad men were taking drink orders and Pansy wasted no time at all in ordering them both shots of firewhisky and flirting obscenely with the largest, most muscled bartender. Draco was hardly surprised to see that they received their drinks before anyone else waiting at the bar. As the warm liquid burned down his throat he allowed his eyes to wander the room, looking for potential prey.

Begrudgingly, Draco told himself that he would have to thank Pansy later for dragging him out here because after going for two months without sex, he was almost overwhelmed by the amount of choices this party was offering him.  Never one to make a hasty decision however, Draco decided to take stock of his choices before choosing his mate for the evening. He turned to tell Pansy he would see her later but decided better of it when he saw her hanging over the bar, still engrossed in conversation with the large bartender. Her breasts were practically falling out of her top and Draco was sure that it would take no more than another thirty minutes for Pansy to convince her new friend to come take a “break” somewhere else in the house. 

Draco left the bar and began to wind his way onto the dance floor, moving his hips to the music and sizing up the variety of men moving around him.  After about ten minutes of scanning the crowd, Draco’s eyes lighted on a man who was dancing by himself off to the side.  He was wearing tight leather trousers that hugged his arse perfectly and his shirt rode up to display a teasing strip of toned, tan abdomen. These things coupled with the man’s “I just rolled out of bed after being seriously fucked” hair had Draco’s groin practically dragging him to where the mysterious man was dancing. He had found his prey—now he just had to make his move.

 Skillfully, Draco danced is way to the side of the room and positioned himself behind the dark-haired man he had been eyeing up.  Without waiting for his partner to notice his presence, Draco began to sensually move his hips in time with the strangers, barely allowing his body to press against the other man’s as they moved together. Feeling Draco behind him, the man seemed to stiffen in surprise and stopped dancing.  Draco smiled to himself.  He had gotten man’s attention, now to disarm his target with his charm and his body. Draco braced himself as his partner turned, preparing a witty comment for his new friend, and found himself face-to-face with none other than Harry Potter.

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Well my dears there you go! Updated just for you! As always please feel free to leave comments, questions, etc. or just say hi!  Lots of love to all of you!!! Mols

 

 

 

 

           

           

 

           


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**  
**Hello my dears! It’s been WAY too long and I sincerely apologize for that but I started writing a NEW story the other week and then decided it was part of the ending I wanted for this story so it is officially time to haul ass and make this thing happen. Thank you for your patience as always and I hope the wait has been worth it!**  
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Draco was used to surprises. You had to be when you worked in the medical field. As a healer, expecting the unexpected could essentially be what kept you from either losing a patient or figuring out a solution in the nick of time. Even in his earliest days as healer, Draco couldn’t remember being as shocked by a single magical malady as he was when his playful smirk was met with wide green eyes and the shocked expression of Harry fucking Potter; the man Draco had been dreaming about for two months who he had been sort-of-kind-of- not completely not over for ten years. Draco felt his healer instinct kick in and, refusing to lose the upper hand, he covered up any shock or surpise on his face with a wide smirk. He licked his lips slowly and addressed the raven-haired man in front of him.  
“Hey there, stranger, it’s been awhile.”

  
If Harry had been expecting any sort of reaction, it certainly wasn’t this. He blinked at Draco rapidly and seemed to be trying to run through the recent course of events in case he had missed some crucial detail to how both he and the Slytherin Ice Prince had ended up together. Not one to wait around, Draco grabbed Potter’s hips and began dancing against him to the beat of the music. There was no point in sticking out and perhaps the music would jog Potter’s sluggish vocal skills. He had seemed perfectly comfortable dancing a few moments ago anyway. Draco leaned forward so he could speak in Potter’s ear without shouting.  
“It’s certainly been a while. I had no idea I would be running into you at place like this.”

  
Harry stiffened, whether from the proximity of Draco’s lips to his ear or from the comment he made, Draco couldn’t tell. A moment later, Draco felt the fringe of Potter’s dark hair tickle his face as a gruff voice near is ear replied “I could say the same thing about you, Malfoy.”

  
Draco had expected to hear animosity or uncertainly in Harry’s voice but instead was sure he picked up on a teasing, almost flirtatious tone from the other man. He also smelled alcohol on Potter’s breath. Lots of alcohol. It was clear that although he didn’t appear to visibly intoxicated, Harry was at least somewhat tipsy. Common sense told Draco to back off, Potter clearly wasn’t thinking straight or they wouldn’t be dancing together, certainly not this intimately with his hands on Potter’s hips and Potter’s fingers running down his arms. If Potter was thinking straight they probably would be at least three feet apart and barley speaking at all. But Draco could feel the firewhiskey burning in his stomach, making his nerves sing with a predatory anticipation and in that moment, that wonderful feeling outweighed any sort of common sense that might have presented itself to him.

  
“I’ve been back in London for two months Potter, or have you missed that memo?” Draco countered, keeping his hips moving in time with Harry’s.

  
“Oh, I know you’ve been back,” Potter replied lightly, ignoring Draco’s shocked expression. “I just didn’t expect you still be into this sort of scene.”

  
“And I don’t remember you being into this scene at all,” Draco shot back. He didn’t like the tone of Harry’s comment. He was supposed to be the one with the upper hand here. He was supposed to be throwing Harry off guard.

  
“Favor for a friend,” Harry replied, a strange smile creeping onto his face as he eyed a girl dancing a few feet away from him. She caught Harry’s eye and waved frantically at him before being swept up into the sea of moving bodies by the handsome man she was grinding against. Draco had a moment to take in the girl’s lithe figure, ridiculously long, purple hair, and strapless crop-top before a wave of powerful jealousy washed over him. It didn’t matter who that girl was or how she knew Harry but if she could convince him to come out to a place like this and evoke that kind affection from him, then he officially hated every inch of her pixie-esque being with a deep loathing. Without taking another moment to think, Draco grabbed Potter’s hand.

  
“Come on,” he said already starting to drag the other man across the dance floor, “I need a drink.”

  
Draco pulled them through the crowd and squeezed into an empty space around the bar. With a quick glance around, Draco decided that Pansy must have wandered off to flirt elsewhere and relaxed against the bar counter. The last thing he needed was his famously-nosy companion snooping around to see who he was trying to capture for the evening. Not that he was trying to capture Potter, Draco reminded himself. He was just…there with him. At the bar. To catch up. After ten years. Shaking his head free of his pathetic excuses Draco jumped back to reality when he felt a large, calloused hand on his arm. Looking up, he saw Potter’s gaze fixed on him as well as a very irritated-looking bartender.

  
“What did you want to drink, Draco?” Potter asked.

  
“Oh…uh…firewhiskey. On the rocks. Leave the bottle.”

  
Ignoring both Harry’s and the bartender’s startled expressions, Draco turned his attention back to Potter, sizing him up properly for the first time since he had seen him this evening. The years had done nothing but help make Potter more attractive then Draco remembered. Full-time auror duty seemed to agree with him and his muscles had filled out and toned his figure nicely. He shoulders, chest, and hands seemed broader and without his glasses, Potter’s green eyes seemed more piercing than ever. The leather pants he was sporting clung to his muscular thighs and pert arse marvelously and the ripped, form-fitting tank top he wore exposed a strip of taught abdomen that made Draco’s mouth water. Frankly, just looking at Potter made him want to run is tongue over every inch of the man’s flesh, preferably with as little clothing obstructing his way as possible.

  
The bartender brought back Draco’s glass and the bottle of whiskey and large glass of greenish liquor for Potter. Both men sipped from their drinks, eyes wandering the other individuals at the bar and on the dance floor. Finally, Draco broke the silence.

  
“So who is she?”

  
“Sorry?”

  
“Skinny girl with the purple hair who you came her for. Who is she? Your new girlfriend?”

  
Draco had expected several different reactions, none of which involved Potter laughing so hard he had put his drink down and take several deep breaths before continuing the conversation. He glared indignantly at the dark-haired man as Harry picked up his drink and took another large swig, motioning for the bartender to give him a refill. Draco poured himself another glass of firewhiskey.

  
“Me? And—and Allie?” Potter gasped finally. “Oh Godrick no, Malfoy. Not in a million years. She’s like a little sister to me! She’s a huge pain in the arse more than anything, to be honest. God, just the thought of me…and her…” Potter shuddered and grabbed his fresh drink off the bar. Draco remained silent because he honestly had no idea what to say. “I don’t know if you remember this,” Harry continued slowly, as if explaining to a small child that when rain falls, things get wet, “but I’m still VERY gay. Allie and I work together in the auror department. I trained her myself. She’s like family to me. I’m only here because if I didn’t show up tonight I’d never hear the end of it. She loves hosting this kind of wild shit.”

  
“Wait…this is her party?” Draco asked incredulously.

  
“Yeah, this is her place. Why?” Potter replied, cocking his head to one side.

  
“I’m here because of Pansy. She said she knew the girl throwing this party. I just expected her to be some fashion designer, not an auror. You sort are usually too paranoid to have a good time.”

  
Potter snorted. “Al is tough as nails in the field but outside of it? Merlin is she a little diva.” He shook his head as the girl in questions sashayed by them with three different men on her arm. Potter smiled fondly at her retreating figure. “But that’s why you’re hear?” he quipped. “Pansy?”

  
Draco nodded. Yeah. Usually it’s me and my cat and my cases on the weekend. Occasionally I see Hermione or Rose—what?”

  
Harry’s eyes looked like he was about to pop out of his head. “You and…Hermione?”’

  
“Yes Potter,” Draco said, smiling smugly. “We spoke right after I moved back to London and since then we meet up at least once a week for dinner or drinks. Your goddaughter is quite energetic.”

  
“Yeah…she is,” Harry responded coldly. Draco knew he shouldn’t be so pleased that Hermione had kept their meetings a secret from Harry but it felt good to have something between him and Hermione that the golden boy didn’t know. He had at least assumed her husband would have said something to Potter. He and Draco tolerated each other but it wasn’t as though the two of them had become chums over the past few months. Draco smugly watched as Potter moodily finished his drink. He surveyed the men dancing in front of him and caught the eye of tall, dark-haired man with tanned skin and lean, yet muscular figure. Seeing that he had caught Potter’s attention, the stranger began dancing with increasingly obvious sensuality. Moving closer as Potter continued to watch.

  
Draco noticed this intruder and saw he was at risk of losing Potter’s attention to the interest of the other man. He made eye-contact with the unwanted dancer sent him a piercing glare, his upper lip curling back as if he were growling. Just in case the enemy didn’t understand the message, Draco moved closer to Harry and wrapped his arm around his waist. He’s mine, Draco thought feeling Potter’s attention slide back him and saw other man slink away, glaring back at him. Draco turned so he was flush up against Potter. He looked up at him and held his gaze as he poured them both liberal amounts of firewhisky. Handing Potter his glass, Draco stood on his tip-toes and pressed even closer to the other man as he whispered in his ear. “Let’s dance. You owe me own after all.”

  
Potter stared into the Slytherin’s eyes, completely entranced as Draco downed his alcohol and licked his lips, never letting his grey eyes break from Harry’s green ones.  
“I owe you?” he replied in a strangled tone.

  
“From ten years ago, silly,” the blonde replied, biting his lower lip as he smirked.

  
“O-okay,” the dark haired man replied. He downed he drink in a single gulp and allowed Draco to take both of his hands and dance them back onto the dance floor and into the sea of writhing bodies.  
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Harry had come to this party with no expectations beyond getting drunk and watching men dance that he couldn’t take home. In all of his wildest ideas, he had never pictured himself pressed up against Draco fucking MALFOY on a dark dance floor feeling their hips roll against once another’s and their sweat mix as Draco sensually draped his arms around his neck and ran his nose and lips up to his ear to occasionally comment on something around them. Harry’s mind whirled. There was absolutely no doubt that he was drunk now but what had happened between that and when Malfoy first showed up? Sure Malfoy had danced up behind him, but neither one of them had any idea who the other one was, not even Draco could hide that millisecond of surprise when the he had turned around to face the blonde. But even after, Harry had expected him to make some snarky comment and walk away, find another willing partner to grind up against. It’s not like they had spoken in the last ten years…since their last ‘date.’

  
Harry winced. He should have apologized for that whole mess but by the time he had gotten over himself and went to swallow his pride to talk to Malfoy, he had already left for France and Harry had assumed at that point it was better just to let him go. Yet after seeing who he was, Malfoy had stayed and seemed almost jealous when Harry had mentioned Allie’s part in dragging him to this party. The blonde had then dragged them to the bar and proceeded to casually interrogate him about Allie and their relationship before telling him how he and Hermione were apparently such good friends that he even knew Rose. Rose his goddaughter. A prickle of anger flared in Harry’s stomach thinking about that. According to Malfoy, he and Hermione had been on speaking terms since he got back to London two months ago. He, Hermione, and Ron still spoke frequently and saw each other at least once a week if he wasn’t working a case or Hermione wasn’t swamped with work and neither Ron nor Hermione them had mentioned anything about this new friendship with Malfoy to him. Malfoy could always be lying but Harry didn’t understand what he stood to gain from that. And then when Harry was sure Malfoy had had is fun, had humiliated him about his relationship with his friends, he had once again stepped in to recapture his attention when another man tried to pick him up. A very obvious move too. One moment they were standing in stony silence and the next, Draco was right in front of him, seductively licking his lips and forcing firewhiskey into his hand, asking him to come dance. The part of Harry’s brain that had any form of common sense or reason should have been screaming to walk away. To go find that other sexy man and dance up against him to make Malfoy completely jealous, but instead, he found himself caught up in Malfoy’s silver-grey eyes and before he knew what he was saying, Harry had both his hands in Malfloy’s and was allowing the smaller man to pull him back into the center of the dance floor.

  
Harry snapped back to reality has Malfoy’s lips found their way back to his ear. Goose bumps ran down his neck and his arms as a sultry voice he shouldn’t have been so familiar with whispered into his ear “This is quite the an impressive repayment Potter, I didn’t know you were so good with your hips.”  
Harry felt himself flush as he leaned down to gruffly reply “You never asked me about my hips ten years ago, Malfoy.”  
“If I had would things have been different?”

  
Grey eyes met green.

  
“No because I was too stupid to do what I really wanted ten years ago.”

  
“And what was that, Potter?”

  
“This.”

  
And before Harry knew what he was doing, he had his fingers had tangled in Draco Malfoy’s hair he and was capturing Draco Malfoy’s lips in a searing kiss that he had wanted pull him into for over ten years.  
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**So there you go! I tried to make it lengthy for you guys and I hope it’ll keep you interested while I start up chapter 15!!!!!! As always comments, suggestions, etc. are welcomed and I hope you enjoy!!! Lots of love my dears :3**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**Hello my lovelies I couldn’t stay away! I finished the last chapter like 3 hours ago and couldn’t stop myself from wanting to keep on going so….lets get right on writing!!! I hope you enjoy!**

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            If Harry was being honest with himself (which, let’s be honest didn’t happen ALL that often) he would admit that he had imagined what it would be like to kiss Draco fucking Malfoy since his first year of Hogwarts. What Harry would be less likely to admit to himself was that he still imagined what it would be like to kiss said Draco fucking Malfoy even in the ten year span where Malfoy moved to France and Harry decided to let him go in order for them to both pursue independent lives for their own good. What Harry did not admit to himself was that when he finally kissed Draco fucking Malfoy on the dance floor at Allie’s party, his hair was softer and silkier than he had ever imagined. His lips were softer and tasted of firewhisky and vanilla and maple syrup. Harry would _not_ admit he had imagined what it would be like to have Draco fucking Malfoy lean into his kiss with just as much passion as he was giving back. He would _not_ admit the way he had hoped Draco would nip at his lower lip before slowly sliding his soft tongue into his mouth to intertwine with his own tongue. He would certainly _not_ admit to thinking about how it would feel to have Draco tighten his arms around his neck and pull them together so there was no space between them. How it would be to have Draco continue kissing him back, adding heat and passion to the kiss until Harry steered them into a corner along the back wall.

 

            Harry continued to card his fingers through the silky strands of Malfoy’s hair as they hit the wall, hoping the change of pace wouldn’t startle Draco too much. Draco didn’t seem to mind, however, and responded by grinding his half-hard erection again Harry’s thigh and tugging on his lower lip with his teeth, growling seductively. A moan escaped the back of Harry’s throat and he pushed both of their bodies more forcefully into the wall, running his tongue along Draco’s lower lip to gain access to his mouth. Their tongues met and continued to duel with one another as Harry pressed his thigh between Draco’s legs, grinding against his erection, and causing a whine to erupt from Draco. The thin material of Draco’s shirt bunched up under Harry’s hands as he explored the blonde’s lithe torso. Harry groaned as his finger skimmed over Draco’s nipples, rutting his hips against the other man shamelessly. He hadn’t been with someone in so long, and hadn’t been with someone this amazing in an even longer amount of time. The way Draco felt, the way he moved against him, the way he responded to his kisses with such aggressive passion, it was as if Harry had never really kissed anyone before. This was amazing, this was incredible this was…But whatever else kissing Draco Malfoy was, Harry didn’t get to find out for at the very moment, a large dog-like patronus materialized right next to Harry and Ron’s voice came out of it’s mouth.

 

            “Harry, sorry to bother you mate but I need you to apparate over here right away. If you don’t, Merlin Harry, she’s going to murder me. Just get here quick as you can!”

 

            If anything can spoil your hottest fantasy coming to life, your best friend shouting in your ear while you’re making out so you jump a foot into the air and whack your head against an ornamental lamp hanging on the wall is probably one of the most surefire ways to do so. Harry took a step back, rubbing his forehead and cursing under his breath. Of all the times for Ron to need him, it had to be now. He looked down at his companion who looked very unamused and very much like he wanted to add a second bruise to Harry’s face.

 

            “That was…was...” Harry tried lamely, gesturing to the spot where Ron’s patronus had been moments before.

 

            “Was Weasley Potter, yes I know,” Draco drawled. He looked bored, incredibly disinterested in the entire situation, looking past Harry to eye the other dancers moving through the room. “You know, it’s quite rude to make plans with someone and then kiss someone else in the interim.”

 

            “I didn’t—there were no—I had no previous—” Harry spluttered, running a hand through his hair nervously as he tried to explain. “I didn’t have plans with Ron tonight Malfoy. Obviously something happened and he needs my help and—”

 

            “So go already,” Malfoy countered, inspecting his nails disdainfully. “Clearly Weasley needs you for something very important. I just wish he had told you before I wasted my entire evening. Oh well. See you, Potter.”

 

            And before Harry had a moment to reply in indignation, Draco had slipped past him and disappeared into the sea of thrashing bodies filling Allie’s house. Harry sighed, letting his head thump against the wall in frustration. Of all the ways this evening was supposed to go, absolutely _nothing_ that happened had gone in any way to plan. Maybe Hermione was right and he jut needed to stop making plans altogether. At least then he wouldn’t be surprised when every single one of them went to hell. Running his hands through his hair once again, Harry began to wend is way through the mass of moving bodies in order to find the front door. At least if he appartated outside he was less likely to splinch himself on his way to Ron’s—that was one surprise he could at least plan not to experience tonight. He considered finding Allie to tell her that he was leaving, but one moment of thinking about what sort of precarious position he might find his friend in was enough to send him straight out the door. She most likely wouldn’t miss him anyway.

 

            “Ron,” Harry called as he appeared in his friend’s familiar living room. “Ron, are you there?”

 

            “Harry, I’m in here—hurry!”

 

            Harry jogged down the hallway and followed is mate’s panicked voice into the….laundry room. “Ron? Ron I’m right—”

 

            “Harry what the bloody hell are you wearing?” Ron’s mouth hung agape, turning from a muggle washing machine against the far wall to ogle is best friend. Harry flushed. Shit, he had completely forgotten that he was still dressed from Allie’s party. Ron had sounded so urgent and he had been so distracted by Draco—Harry shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to think about Draco—not now.

 

            “Allie forced me out to a party she was having,” he supplied, running a hand through his messy hair. “Your message sounded important so I came over straight from her place without changing. This is important, isn’t it?” Harry quipped, looking around the laundry room in confusion. The only thing out of place to him was that he and Ron were in the laundry room to begin with. Harry had assumed something had been wrong with Rose or that Ron needed help with an out-of-control product from the joke shop he now co-ran with Fred and George.

 

            “Oh,” said Ron, still openly staring at his friend’s attire. “I thought you had been out at a muggle club looking for a guy to bring home for a shag. I’d hate to tear you away from that. Merlin knows you haven’t gotten laid in ages.”

 

            “Why does everyone know so much about my sex life!? Actually, nevermind, don’t answer that. Just tell me what you so desperately need help with.”

 

            Ron closed his eyes and shuddered. “Well it’s like this. ‘Mione and I had a row this morning because I forgot to do the laundry so she…she charmed the washer and dryer so that I can’t do the laundry by magic! She said she’d reverse the spell after I finished the laundry the muggle way. Said it would help me learn a thing or two about ‘how easy I have’ it or something. Anyway I started with Hermione’s stuff and when I went to pull it out of the washer,” Ron gestured feebly to the open top. “See for yourself,” he whispered.

 

            Harry walked over and peered into the machine. “Ron it’s too dark, I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

 

            “Take them out Harry. Take the clothes out,” Ron croaked, looking up at the ceiling as if he couldn’t bear to see whatever Harry was about to uncover.

 

            Reaching into the washer, Harry pulled out a damp, pink blouse. Wait…Hermione didn’t own anything pink. Putting the shirt down, Harry dug into the washing machine and pulled out another handful of Hermione’s wash. All of her clothes were pink. “Ron...” Harry began slowly pulling more unnaturally pink clothes out of the washing machine as he went. “Has anyone ever explained to you how to use a muggle washing machine?”

 

            “ _Yes_ , as a matter of fact I do,” Ron snapped defensively. Harry raised his eyebrows. “This morning after she spelled the machine,” Ron muttered sheepishly. “I just don’t understand where it went wrong.”

 

            “Maybe it started with this,” Harry stated, pulling one of Ron’s violently red socks out of the bottom of the washer. Ron groaned and let his head fall onto the dryer with a loud _thunk_.

 

            “Oh Merlin’s tits ‘Mione is going to kill me. What am I going to do?”

 

            “Spell them back to normal?”

 

            “No I can’t! She temporarily charmed the clothes too. That way I’d have to fold them by hand after I washed them. I can’t do anything magical to these things,” Ron moans, gesturing to the pastel pile lying between them. “But you…you can!”

 

            “What? Ron if you can’t spell the clothes how the hell am I supposed to fix them?”

 

            “She only charmed them to not work for _me_ ,” Ron exclaimed. “That means you can fix them! Please mate, do this for me? I’ll owe you one.”

 

            Harry chuckled, already pulling out his wand. “Just remember to do your laundry next time so I don’t have to touch my friend’s knickers again,” he said, gesturing to a pink thong lying at the top of the pile.

 

            Ron nodded eagerly. “It’s not as hot as you’d think it’d be,” he whispered conspiratorially.

 

            “It’s not hot for me at all considering they’re _women’s_ underwear. Hermione’s to be exact,” Harry said slowly. Ron seemed to take a moment to process this statement before nodding slowly.

 

            “Oh yeah. Good point. So how much did Allie blackmail you to show up at her party?”

 

            “She didn’t blackmail me,” Harry responded. “She just had to be her usual annoying self and that basically covered all her bases.” Ron laughed heartily and jumped up to sit on the dryer.

 

            “Still, were there any hot guys there?”

 

            “Ron, you know I don’t date wizards.”

 

            “Who said anything about dating? I thought we were talking about shagging.”

 

            Harry groaned and threw a pile of now-white clothing at his mate. “Put these in the dryer will you? You don’t want Hermione to come home and see me helping you when you’re being punished.”

 

            “You’re avoiding the question.”

 

            “No. I didn’t see anyone there that caught my fancy. I just drank and danced a little to keep Allie off my back.”

 

            Ron raised his eyebrows. “Really? So you’re telling me that _Allie_ dragged you to a party _she_ was throwing and you showed up looking like _that_ and there wasn’t a single bloke that met your liking?”

 

            “Nope,” said Harry firmly, hoping the tone of his voice would signal the end of the discussion.

 

            “Okay…” Ron said, sounding unconvinced. There was a brief pause before: “so how many guys do you think Allie slept with tonight?”

 

            Harry threw a sweater at his face, grimacing. “Can we please just talk about something I actually _want_ to think about tonight?”

 

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            Draco Malfoy did many things but he did not, under any circumstances pout. That was just too un-Malfoy-like. Okay that was a lie. But he CERTAINLY didn’t pout where other people could see. Draco also wasn’t used to being left by his date right when things were getting good. Actually he wasn’t used to be left by his dates at _all_ but that hardly seemed like the point right now. Not that Harry fucking Potter was his date but…Draco shook his head. This was getting him nowhere. He poured himself another shot of whiskey and leaned further back into the arm of his couch. Cassie eyed him warily, silently judging him for drinking without sharing the booze. Draco chugged his shot and sighed, feeling the liquid burn away what was left of the nerves in his throat. He could have easily found another suitable bloke to seduce and shag after Potter disappeared but by that point, Draco had been so tired that it made sense just to go home.

 

His leaving alone had absolutely nothing to do with that fact that compared to Potter, all the other men at the party seemed…dull in comparison. It had nothing to do with the fact that this had been the first time Draco had actually enjoyed his time with another man beyond their physical interaction in months. And it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Draco had been somewhat hopeful that the man he would be taking to bed that evening would be Potter. Nope. None of those reasons had any validity whatsoever.

 

            Cassie meowed in irritation, rubbing up against Draco’s leg in order to remind her master that up until that moment he had been ignoring the most important creature in his life. Draco poured another shot and pulled the small cat into his lap. He knew he was going to get an earful from Pansy whenever she roused herself form her drunken slumber tomorrow about leaving early without telling her first but at this point, he really couldn’t care too much. Pansy always found something to complain about when she set her mind to it anyway. Finishing his last shot, Draco pulled himself up shakily off the couch, Cassie in hand. He stumbled back to his bedroom and dropped Cassie unceremoniously on the duvet, earning a startled mewl and several scratches on his wrist.

 

            “Oh don’t be such a baby, it wasn’t that far of a drop,” he slurred, pulling his shirt off as best he could. Once he disentangled himself from his shirt, pants, and underwear, Draco fell into bed, burrowing into his pillows and sighing. He knew he was going to seriously regret those last few shots tomorrow morning but right now, he really didn’t care. It had been a long time since he’d been this drunk and he supposed that after working so hard at the hospital over the last few weeks, he owed it to himself to do something slightly irresponsible. Like get wasted and make out with Potter.

 

In the dark comfort of his bed, Draco finally allowed himself to relive his latest encounter with the savior of the Wizarding World. It had been nothing like he had imagined their next encounter would be; if they were to ever encounter one another again at all, of course. Potter had been full of surprises, as he always was but tonight he had been on another level entirely. Not only did Potter welcome Draco’s dancing assault, but he had danced with him. They had talked. Potter had laughed. He let Draco act somewhat possessively towards him with little more than a quirked eyebrow. Not that it wasn’t a stupid move on Draco’s part to act that way, but he supposed, if he was going to do anything stupid while he was wasted, there was certainly worse things that could have transpired. And that _kiss_. Draco closed his eyes and hummed as he replayed the moment in his head.

 

            He had imagined what it would be like to kiss Potter on multiple occasions but he had never imagined the Golden Boy to be so…forward. Potter had been completely comfortable taking control of the situation and had done so with fervor and skill. It was clear this wasn’t is first steamy encounter with a man, but Draco didn’t want to think just how many other men had trained Potter’s tongue to be _that_ talented. Draco himself had certainly had his fair share of practice but that was to be expected. He was, after all, exceedingly handsome, charming, and very desirable in the bedroom. He just hadn’t expected to find such a complimentary match to that aspect of himself in Potter. Draco shifted under the sheets, feeling his half-hard cock brush his thigh. Draco closed his eyes and slowly began trailing his hands down his body, imagining that instead of his own delicate, thin fingers, he was being caressed by a much larger, more masculine pair of hands.

 

            Draco shivered as he rolled his left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, flicking it gently so that it stood erect. With his other hand he ghosted down to his hips and began to run teasing fingers along the inside of his thigh. “Nnngh…Harry…” he groaned as he finally allowed himself to grasp his now fully erect prick, sliding his thumb over the sensitive head and smearing pre-come down the shaft. Slowly, he began wanking himself to the image of Harry dancing. Hips thrusting, arse griding against his own hips as he looked back at Draco over his shoulder. Draco saw a flash of emerald eyes and saw a pink tongue wet perfectly full lips before he came undone. Calling out Harry’s name, Draco arched his hips and came all over his hand and stomach. When he had finally rode out his orgasm, the blonde cast a quick cleaning charm and fell immediately into a deep, sated sleep.

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**Well there you go! 15 chapter later the smut finally begins ;) I hope you like your first taste of what’s to come!!! As always, comments, suggestions, etc. and SO appreciated. Also a huge thank you to those reading and anyone who’s actually stuck with this story since day one. We’re finally getting there guys!!!! Lots of hugs—Molls**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**Hey guys! Super excited to get this chapter underway so without further ado, let’s get to it! As always, SO many thanks to those kind enough to comment and anyone taking the time to read this story. You guys make my day!**

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            Harry had never been much of a morning person and he was _especially_ not a morning person after he spent most of the previous evening getting shit-faced. After he and Ron and finished the laundry, they had sat around his and Hermione’s kitchen table and drank beers. It had been a while since they had had the opportunity to spend time together just the two of them since Ron had left the auror force. Once Rose had been born he and Hermione had decided that two parents with unpredictable work schedules was not that best equation for taking care of a newborn. So Ron took a leave of absence and started working at the joke shop with Fred and George. He told everyone that once Rose was old enough he would rejoin the force but Harry wasn’t sure anymore. He knew Ron loved being his partner and working cases with him. He knew he loved the danger and excitement of the chase, but since becoming a father, something had changed about Ron. He was softer, more cautious and Harry honestly didn’t think he would want to put himself in danger everyday now that he and Hermione had a family to look after. Besides, it was no secret that Ron enjoyed the joke shop and the flexible hours allowed him to spend as much time with Rose as she needed.

 

            Harry had finally left for his own flat well after four in the morning when Hermione came through the floo, looking exhausted but very pleased with the work she had accomplished staying up late to finish a conference with a wizarding diplomat who was about six hours behind them time-wise. She had stuck around to have a drink with the boys and then she and Ron bid Harry goodnight. Too drunk to appartate home safely, Harry had flooed home and promptly fallen into bed, fully clothed. Harry groaned as an intrusive ray of sunlight fell directly across his face. He pulled the blankets over his head and hoped that if he kept his eyes resolutely shut, the disconcerting spinning sensation he was feeling would eventually stop. After about twenty minutes of hoping, Harry admitted defeat and gingerly sat up in bed. His stomach lurched unpleasantly and the pounding in his temple increased tenfold. Thanking the gods for wandless, wordless, magic, Harry summoned a hangover potion and downed the entire contents of the bottle in one gulp. Almost instantly the room stopped spinning and Harry was able to look at the clock on his bedside table to see the luminous numbers read half past eleven. Harry stretched and looked down at himself, amazed he had been able to sleep as long as he had still dressed in his outfit from the night before. Deciding there was no point going back to bed now, Harry stripped and walked into his bathroom, turning on the water to the highest temperature possible.

 

            Harry groaned in pleasure as the scalding water washed away the booze, makeup, and sweat from the night before, making him feel cleaner than he had in a long time. As he ran his fingers through the thick mess of his hair, Harry’s mind strayed to the events of the previous evening. He wondered if Allie had known Draco would be there. She had, after all, invited Pansy Parkinson and it made sense that if she was coming, Draco would most likely be coming as well. Allie was one of the few people besides Ron and Hermione who knew about his and Draco’s history back at Hogwarts. She had always given him an earful about how he should reach out to Malfoy and try to make things right, but Harry had always used the distance as an excuse. The other man was clearly living his own life far away from Harry so why would he disrupt that balance? Allie usually kicked him in the shins at this point of the conversation and flounced off, muttering about how stupid men were.

 

            Whether Allie planned for he and Draco to meet up last night, the fact remained that they had and something had happened between them. They had kissed and Draco had seemed genuinely upset when Harry had had to leave suddenly. Malfoy would never admit that of course, but Harry had seen the flash of disappointment in his grey eyes before he had stalked off. Harry lathered the shampoo in his hair, deep in thought. What he didn’t know for sure was if last night counted as a one-time event or if there was room to push for something more. He wasn’t stupid, Malfoy had a reputation and even within the two months since he’d been back in London rumors indicated it hadn’t changed. Draco Malfoy was only looking for one night stands. A pretty boy to bring back to his bed for a good time before tossing him to the side and moving on with his life and his career. With all the alcohol involved last night, it would be easy for anyone to dismiss the feeling of something more passing between the two men. It wasn’t as if Malfoy had given any indication that he wanted to see Harry again after last night, or that he was interested in Harry beyond using him for a good shag.

 

            Harry watched the shampoo lather mix with the shower water and flow down the drain. He didn’t even know what _he_ wanted for fucks sake. Over the past seven years, he had made it perfectly clear to everyone that he was married to his work. Work came first and that meant long hours, late nights at the office, weekends spent doing case reports, and time spent away on operations he couldn’t disclose the details of to anyone else. It wasn’t an ideal situation for a long-term relationship and what free time he did have, Harry focused on spending time with his friends and family. They were all he really needed and deserved first priority in his life.

 

When Hermione or Molly had pleaded with him to try and put himself out there, he had repeatedly said that it just wasn’t the right time and besides, he was more than happy with how his life was now anyway. Harry turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as he did so. There were so many reasons not to do anything, to leave things the way they were and move on with his life the way he always had. Yet something kept gnawing at the back of his mind. Maybe it was guilt for leaving so suddenly, or maybe it was plain curiosity, but for whatever reason, Harry found himself sitting at his kitchen table in his sweatpants ten minutes later, a quill and piece of spare parchment in front of him. After twenty minutes of scratch-outs, edits, and deliberation, Harry sat back and admired his work:

 

_Malfoy, if you’re free I was wondering if you would like to join me for lunch tomorrow._

_Potter_

 

            He crinkled his nose in frustration. Hermione certainly could have done better but at this point, what he had in front of him was better than nothing. Harry got up and walked to the living room where his owl, Rhys, was perched. She hooted affectionately at him and nipped his fingers as he stroked her feathers. Harry tied the letter around her leg and opened the window, watching as Rhys took off and disappeared over the shops and apartments of London. Now all he had to do was wait for Malfoy’s reply and he’d have his answer. Looking at the clock, Harry decided to make himself a cup of coffee and try to finish the case report he had started about a vampire cult he and his team and taken out last week. It was better than waiting around his kitchen for a reply anyway.

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            Draco Malfoy did not like surprises. He had his schedule down to a science (well as much as anyone could when people get injured or almost die at random intervals at your job) and knew what he liked and didn’t like. So when a snowy owl appeared at this window the next morning bearing a note from Potter, Draco was very sure he didn’t like what was happening to his perfectly planned day. He had planned to spend the day nursing his headache and keeping his thoughts as far away from Harry fucking Potter as humanly possible, but of course Potter couldn’t respect anyone’s preferences if they didn’t correspond with his own. He probably didn’t even care if Draco wanted to see him again or not; he just wanted to make sure he got the last word. Draco felt himself puff up in irritation—well that certainly was _not_ going to happen. Saint Potter could walk over every other member of the Wizarding World but NOT Draco Malfoy, no sir! Draco summoned a quill and piece of parchment to his side and quickly penned his response:

 

_Potter, tomorrow is fine as I don’t work this weekend. Please meet me at the location indicated below at 1pm tomorrow afternoon. It’s in muggle London so please dress accordingly. Draco Malfoy_

            It was only after Draco had sent Potter’s owl back out the window with his reply that he realized the magnitude of what he had just agreed to. He, Draco Malfoy, had just agreed to meet Harry Potter for lunch. After they made out drunkenly at a party the previous evening. So that meant…this was like…a date. A second date. Draco Malfoy did not do second dates. Not now, not ever. It was too complicated. People started to expect things by the second date, that things were going to go somewhere or lead to something “more.” Draco Malfoy didn’t do “more,” he didn’t have the time or the energy or the desire for anything _more_ than a good fuck. So why did he agree to meet with Potter after _Potter_ was the one who left _him_ the other night?

 

Draco’s mind whirred as he tried to come up with a logical explanation for his behavior. He had agreed to meet Potter so…so…so he could be the one to leave Potter this time. Yes, that was the only logical explanation. Potter thinks he can just up and leave him and then come back a day later and make it up to him on a secret second date? Well, Potter had another think coming to him because Malfoys actually _were_ good at that.

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**Hello my loves! I hope you had a nice holiday with friends and family and that this update was worth the wait!!! I’m battling through finals but by next Friday I will have a month to just write and paint to my heart’s content! So that means good things for this story!!! Comments, suggestions, etc. are always welcome and HUGE thank yous to anyone who actually is reading this. You guys are the best. Lots of love!!!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**Hello my lovelies!!! I’m not gonna lie I have no idea how long this story is gonna go but I wouldn’t be surprised if we were still going at chapter 40-something. So I hope you don’t mind too much! I apparently have more in mind for these boys than I originally planned. Oh well, one chapter at a time! Enjoy!!!**

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            Harry had never been a patient person. He had just never seen the point in waiting for something that was inevitably coming—it made no sense to him. It was a trait that had gotten him into trouble with Hermione many times because it had also gotten him into some tough spots during raids and operations at work. Harry didn’t always see the point in waiting for a search or a precursor sweep to clear before hurling himself into a fight and that meant he had been on the receiving end of some curses that may or may not have been avoidable. He personally thought it made him a good auror because he was determined to run in and get the job done no matter what. Others saw it a little differently. Either way, Harry’s impatience led him to end up awkwardly standing in front of the café Draco had picked for them to meet about twenty minutes early. Harry fished a cigarette and a lighter out of his sweatshirt pocket and lit the end absentmindedly. He didn’t smoke often but when he was nervous, something about the smell of cigarettes helped him feel calm and, in his opinion, mixed nicely with the early October air. Hermione would have killed him if she caught him smoking again; “sticks of an early demise” was what she had nicknamed them fondly when Harry had smoked regularly. To stop her worrying and her nagging, he had cut back but today he felt that he deserved a smoke. Harry looked at his watch, fifteen minutes before he and Malfoy were supposed to meet.

 

            Harry hadn’t been sure what to expect when he sent Malfoy his inquiry yesterday—perhaps a snarky remark or some colorfully worded insult, but certainly not an acceptance to his invitation. It almost made him wonder what Malfoy was playing at…but then again Harry didn’t know what he was really playing at either. This whole scenario seemed so ridiculous Harry was sure he would laugh if was happening to anyone other than himself. As his mind continued to whirl, Harry was suddenly dragged from his internal monologue by smooth, clear voice.

 

            “I didn’t take you for a smoker, Potter.” Draco Malfoy stood in front of him, looking sexier than ever in his tight blue jeans, grey t-shrit, and leather jacket. His hair was mussed perfectly from the wind and the sunglasses perched on top of his head made him look like a model who had walked out of the pages of a catalogue. Harry instantly regretted wearing his old faded jeans and well-worn black hoodie. He stubbed his cigarette out under the heel of his combat boot and looked up with a shy smile.

 

            “Only when I’m nervous, Malfoy. Shall we?” Harry gestured toward the door of the café and held the door open for Draco before entering the building himself. The café was…artsy. There was really no other word Harry could think of to describe it. Paintings and photos created by local artists hung from the walls and the tables were covered in a lacquered layer of splattered paint. The front of the barista counter was lined with sheet metal covered in graffiti and the chairs ranged from mismatched stools, to small armchairs, to a large couch set off in one corner. If it hadn’t been for all the coffee paraphernalia, Harry would have thought they had walked into an artist’s personal studio. Together, Harry and Draco walked up to the counter. Harry was scanning the menu, trying to take everything in but Malfoy seemed to know exactly what he wanted. Clearly this wasn’t his first time here.

 

            “Hey Draco,” a perky girl exclaimed as she popped up from behind the counter. “We haven’t seen you in a couple weeks, busy hospital shifts?” Upon first looking at the girl, Harry was absolutely stunned. But soon he had to admit that the strange girl was pretty in a unique way he was sure not many others could pull off. Half of her head was completely shaved down while the other side sported loose, teal, chest-length ringlets. She had several piercing on her face and her ears were stretched with holes large enough to fit a hamster through with ease. She stretched as she chatted with Draco and Harry noticed both of her arms were completely covered from shoulder to wrist in colorful, spiraling tattoos. Harry was so absorbed in taking in the girl’s oddly fitting appearance, he almost didn’t hear Draco’s reply.

 

            “Yeah, sorry about that Bandit. I’ve been working overtime like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve missed your coffee though, I need to try to come in on my breaks. The cafeteria coffee is nothing compared to your espresso.”

 

            Bandit puffed up with pride. “Well you should know that by now Draco, you’ve been here every day for almost two months now. Anyways, who’s your friend?” Bandit had turned her charcoal-lined eyes onto Harry now, eyeing him with interest.

 

            “Oh pardon my manners, Bandit this is Harry. Harry, Bandit.”

 

            Before Harry could react, Bandit had leaned over the counter and kissed him on the cheek. “Pleasure! Draco never comes in here with anyone so you must be special,” she said winking. Draco groaned. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” Bandit assured her friend, pouting slightly. “What can I get for you guys?”

 

            “I’ll take a cinnamon apple latte and the smoked turkey sandwich,” Draco replied, eyes scanning the menu board as he went. “What about you, Potter?”

 

            “Uh…..I’ll take a large mocha and a double chocolate chip muffin.”

 

            “A man after my own heart,” Bandit said nodding in approval. “You want whipped cream on the mocha?”

 

            “Please.”

 

            “Potter, you do realize this is considered lunch don’t you?”

 

            “Aw let him be, Draco. Just because _you_ can’t have any fun doesn’t mean we all can’t.”

 

            Draco rolled his eyes. “Why am I friends with you again?”

 

            Bandit flashed him a wide grin. “Because you love me. Now go sit down and I’ll bring your stuff over when it’s ready.”

 

            Draco slid several bills over the counter and walked away, motioning for Harry to follow him. Draco led Harry to a small table in the back corner away from the other patrons. Perching himself on his stool, Harry looked around the café while Draco settled himself across from him.

 

            “I like this place.”

 

            Draco seemed to think Harry was making fun of him but when he saw the sincerity in his face, he smiled slightly. “So do I. I stumbled upon it when I was looking for some good muggle places I could go to eat and relax to replace wizarding ones when I moved back to London. Ran in here to get out of the rain one day and Bandit was working. As you can imagine, she started a conversation with me and before I knew it I was stuck drinking coffee with her for over an hour. I’ve been coming back ever since.”

 

            “She’s sweet,” Harry said. “Definitely seems to belong here.”

 

            “I’m pretty sure coffee is the only thing she needs to survive so that makes sense,” Draco replied, nodding. “But I’m guessing you didn’t invite me out to lunch to discuss my choice of company Potter.” It wasn’t a question and the knowing smirk that followed made it clear that Harry was going to have to be the one that started this conversation. Draco wasn’t letting him off the hook so easily.

 

            Harry took a deep breath, grateful that Bandit decided to bring them their orders at that exact moment. He took a sip of his drink and tried to gather his thoughts. He was the one who invited Draco out, it was only fair he explain himself first. “I just felt bad for running out on you so soon the other night. I enjoyed seeing you and I wanted to catch up. See how you’ve been.”

 

            Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him over his mug. “I’ve been back in London for two months Potter. I was in France for ten years. An owl could have easily found me there as well. After all this time, I find it strange that now is when you suddenly want to ‘catch up.’”

 

            Harry took another sip of his drink, burning his tongue a little as he did so. It was obvious Malfoy wanted a more thorough explanation and Harry’s previous response wasn’t going to cut it. If Harry had something he wanted to say to Draco, he was making it very clear that Harry was going to need to spell it out plainly for him. Damn Malfoys and their stubborn pride, they never made anything simple.

 

“I wanted to apologize. I was a prat ten years ago for walking out on you and I’ve been a prat every day since when I’ve thought about you and never owled. I was a prat for not coming to see you when you moved back to London and I was a prat for not making plans to see you again before I left Allie’s the other night. I was a prat for not telling you that I liked you sooner and if I didn’t ask you to meet me here today, I’d never forgive myself for still being a prat. Well you might have assumed I liked you since we sort of kissed the other night, but you know, I wanted to make sure you knew I liked you and I wasn’t just really drunk…” Harry stopped, slightly out of breath as he waited for Malfoy to respond to his unplanned declaration. He should have made it more eloquent…or just used the word ‘prat’ less maybe.

 

Harry chanced a glace at the man sitting across from him and found Draco staring back him, his expression unreadable. Harry felt heat creeping up his neck and into his face. He couldn’t believe he had actually said all of that. He, Harry Potter had basically just admitted to liking Draco fucking Malfoy for over ten years. And now said Malfoy was staring at him as if he had grown three heads like fucking Fluffy and asked Malfoy if he fancied a stroll in the Forbidden Forest. Unable to take the silence any longer, Harry stood up.

 

“I’m…ah…gonna use the loo. Yeah, that’s right. I’ll be back.” And without waiting for a response, Harry dashed off, almost knocking Bandit off her feet in his desperation to reach the safety of the bathrooms.

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            Draco had come to this ridiculous meeting with Potter so that he could give the git a piece of his mind. Draco had planned on being cold, aloof, and brutal as he kicked Potter to the curb in the way only a Malfoy could. What he had not planned on doing was being speechless as Potter actually apologized for ten years worth of being a prat and had willingly admitted to liking Draco while completely sober. That was the moment Draco was supposed to strike. Right at that moment he was supposed to lift his chin up and tell Potter that he could stick his apologies and his feelings up his arse for the next ten years. He was then supposed to get up and leave without a backwards glace before going to a muggle bar to find some attractive bloke to bring home with him. Somehow that very well organized plan all fell apart when Harry looked beseechingly up at him through ridiculously thick eyelashes and big emerald puppy-dog eyes. In that moment Draco almost wanted to ask Potter for more—the kind of more Draco Malfoy never asked of anyone—especially not Harry fucking Potter. Before Draco had been able to collect his thoughts however, Potter had mumbled something about the bathroom and run off like a werewolf being held at gunpoint with a pistol loaded with silver bullets.

 

            No sooner had Potter left than a gleeful looking Bandit slid into his vacated stool. “So who is this ‘Harry Potter?’” she asked, taking an enormous bite out of Harry’s muffin. “Is he you boyfriend? I’ve been waiting for you to finally have a man stick around longer than an erection lasts. What?” Draco had started choking on his coffee at that last remark. “You know it’s completely true!”

 

            “Bandit—no,” Draco whispered hoarsely. “Me and Potter, he and I, we’re not…”

 

            “So there’s history between you two!” Bandit looked like Christmas had come early. “You’ve liked each other for years and now you’re finally trying to make things work? Oh Draco I’m so happy for you!”

 

            “There’s nothing to _make_ work! Just because we got drunk the other night and made out against a wall—” Draco may as well have just confessed to eloping in Vegas with the Minister of Magic...if Bandit were to know who that was.

 

            “DRACO MALFOY YOU MADE OUT WITH A MAN AND YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE FOR COFFEE MORE THAN TWENTY FOUR HOURS LATER?!?!? THIS IS FATE. THIS IS LOVE. THIS IS THE COSMOS FINALLY ALIGNING. THIS IS—"

 

            “A conversation that is over. He’s coming back. Bandit you cannot say a word—I swear I will not come in for a month if you breathe a word of this to Harry.”

 

            “Fine, fine, FINE, keep your secrets Draco. But just know I’ll be watching.” Bandit hopped off the stool just as Harry rounded the corner into view. “And for the record,” she whispered, “he has a _great_ arse.”

 

            “Sorry about that, I had to…what happened to my muffin?”

 

            Harry looks so devastated by the giant chunk missing from his treat Draco couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Sorry,” he snickered, “Bandit stopped by to see where you went and she couldn’t help herself. She has a disgustingly large sweet tooth. I’ll make sure she makes it up to you next time.” Draco stopped suddenly, realizing what had just come out of his mouth.

 

            “Next time?” Harry looked so hopeful Draco wanted to pull him across the table and kiss him right there. But of course he didn’t. Malfoys didn’t do that.

 

            “Yes Pott—Harry. Next time.” Draco took a deep breath. It was now or never and he knew that if he didn’t try this out he wouldn’t hear the end of it from Hermione and he’d probably regret it himself too. “Look, I’m sorry too. We were both idiots back at school. We were too proud to apologize and set things right but we’re adults now and I like you. Even when we’re not drunk and your tongue isn’t down my throat.” He ignored Harry’s mortified moan and continued on. “So if you’re suggesting what I think you were in that poorly-worded speech of yours, I agree.”

 

            “Agree to what?”

 

            “More.”

 

            “More?”

 

            “Yes, Potter, more,” Draco said slowly. Good lord it was like talking to toddler.

 

            “I heard you the first time Draco, I just want to make sure I understand what you’re saying. I don’t usually do ‘more’ with anyone so if it’s all right with you I’d like to lay down some ground rules. What you want and expect, what I want and expect. That way, we can both know what we’re getting into before we start.”

 

            “That’s a fair point, Pot—Harry. Here’s what I suggest: we set a time limit for ourselves where we both agree to try being ‘more.’ At the end of that allotted time, we can come back together and discuss how things went for each of us and we can evaluate the state of our relationship from there.”

 

            Harry bit his lip, clearly thinking. “Okay, that seems fair,” he finally said, nodding. “How long would you like this allotted time period to be?”

 

            “How about ‘til the end of this month? We can make our last date going to Ron and Hermione’s Halloween party together and then we can meet the next day to talk things over.”

 

            “I can agree to that. That gives us about two weeks to try this out and then we can decide if we either want to keep going as we are or go our separate ways.” Harry took a sip of his drink, cocking his head to the side as he thought. “So by ‘more’ Malfoy, what are you looking for?”

 

            “You first Potter, I came up with the first half of the plan.”

 

            Harry laughed and Draco was surprised how much he liked the sound.

 

“Well I suppose to me, ‘more’ would mean that we’re exclusive with one another during our allotted time period. We could go on dates, do things together, talk regularly…”

 

            “So like being a couple.”

 

            “Yes,” Harry said, seeming satisfied with the word choice. “For the next two weeks you and I are couple. Does that work for you?”

 

            Draco thought for a moment. This was something he never did. Hell he couldn’t even remember the last time he had seriously dated anyone. It must have been his first year in France when he saw one of his classmates exclusively for about four months. They ended things amicably when the other boy moved to study in Germany but since then Draco had had no interest in spending time with anyone exclusively or even more than once. Yet here he was with Potter, talking about basically being a couple for two weeks to see if being ‘more’ together would work for them. It was an odd notion. A crazy notion. But nothing that had happened up until this point had been any less crazy so, what did he have to lose?

 

            “Yes it does work for me. On one condition, of course?”

 

            Harry eyed him warily. “And what’s that, exactly?”

 

            “You have to ask me first,” Draco replied, a wicked gleam in his eye as he took a delicate bite of his sandwich. If Draco had been expecting Harry to falter or blush, he was sorely mistaken; instead, a knowing smile spread across the raven-haired man’s face.

 

            “Of course, Draco. After all, it’s only polite.”

 

            Before Draco could say another word, Potter had risen from his seat and gotten down on one knee before the stunned blonde.

 

            “Draco Malfoy,” he said seriously, “will you do me the honor of going out with me exclusively for the next two weeks?”

 

            Draco blinked several times, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on him in that moment. However, he couldn’t help but be impressed, Potter had taken his bait and risen to the challenge magnificently. Now Draco just had to one-up him to even the score.

 

            “Well Potter after that romantic display, what other choice do I have?”

 

            And before Harry could offer any sort of reply, Draco had swooped down and kissed him squarely on the lips in front of the entire café.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco could hear Bandit yell "IT'S ABOUT FUCKING TIME."  He really didn't care.

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**So there we go my dears! Chapter 17 is done! I hope you like where this is heading because I’m super excited to keep working on this story! As always, comments, kudos, etc. are welcomed and a huge thank you to all of you guys reading!!! You’re amazing! Lots of love!!!**

           

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Hello my loves! Honestly if someone told me like a month ago I’d be furiously working on this story I’d probably have laughed but this is wonderful and an amazing break from my painting finals lol. So it seems like we’re on our way—as always all my gratitude for the newcomers checking this out and the strong souls who have been sticking with me for a ridiculous amount of time. Y’all are amazing!!!**

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“You did _what_?! Draco Malfoy when I said you should be an adult and ask Harry out I literally meant _be a bloody adult_. That phrase did not cover a trial run of ‘more!’”

 

            Despite his best efforts, Draco felt himself shrink away from the brunette’s burning glare. As much as he loved Hermione, he didn’t know how Weasely managed to be married to someone who looked so capable of turning someone into a ferret without a moment’s hesitation when she was angry.

            “Hermione, it’s not that big of a deal we both agreed—”

 

            “Of course Harry agreed you dolt! He has the emotional range of a toddler when it comes to relationships. Harry wouldn’t know adult relationship if it literally handed him a business card and asked him to go out for drinks later that night. You just dangled a carrot in front of his face, honestly Draco I thought you were smarter than this.”

 

            Draco decided to ignore the last comment…it took a great deal of willpower. “Hermione, this is new for both Harry and I and this honestly seemed like the best way to try this out. And we’re going to your bloody Halloween party so I don’t understand what you have to be so bloody upset about!”

 

            “Yes it’s new for both of you but I thought you of all people would know that something new like this needs more than two bloody weeks to settle before you can decide if you’re happy or not.”

 

            “I’ve made plenty of major decisions in less time, thank you very much.”

 

            “The accent color of your kitchen wall _does not_ apply here Draco. Relationships need space and time and room to grow. You can’t put so many constraints on it…and you of all people should know how bloody awful Harry is at following plans and protocol. I think he’s allergic to them to be honest.”

 

            “Well he’s going to have to try harder I suppose.”

 

            Hermione banged her head on the table, groaning in exasperation. “Boys are so _stupid_. I swear to Merlin, Draco, I am never _ever_ letting you organize important relationship plans for yourself again. I should have just planned this whole thing it would have—”

 

            “Hermione,” Draco cut in using every ounce of patience in his body to not throw his spoon at the woman in front of him, “it’s done. Harry and I are going to do this for better or worse. You’re just going to have to accept the timeline as it is I’m afraid.”

 

            Hermione glared up at her friend from where her head lay on the table. “So help me Draco Malfoy, if you mess this up I will turn you into a ferret and you will not be able to take anyone to bed for at least a month.”

 

            Draco decided that now was probably the best time to ask the waiter for their check. Once Draco was safely back in his office at the hospital, he took a moment to mull over what Hermione had said at lunch. Okay, so maybe she was a _little_ bit on point about the time constraint aspect of his and Harry’s new relationship but it seemed safest that way. With a time limit, Draco had a better chance of knowing if Harry didn’t reciprocate his feelings before he himself got in way too deep. It was the perfect way to ensure he didn’t let his feelings get out of control. Letting his feelings have free reign for however long his relationship with Harry lasted was too dangerous. If in a month Harry decided he was bored of Draco, it would be too late and Draco was almost guaranteed to go through some level of heartbreak. Malfoys didn’t do heartbreak. They planned ahead so that they came out on top completely unruffled and unscathed. Draco could almost hear Blaise laughing in the back of his mind. If he could hear Draco’s thoughts now, he would roll his eyes dramatically saying, ‘ _Is that a Malfoy trait or a Draco trait? You know you’re never going to put yourself out there without a good reason to try. Self-preservation is who you are Draco._ ’

 

            Draco shook his head, trying to clear Blaise’s voice from his mind. He and Blaise hadn’t spoken since he sent out his wedding invitation three years ago. Draco had politely declined, using work as an excuse and he hadn’t heard from Blaise since. Draco knew he owed his friend an owl at _least_ but he always found a reason not to reach out. Blaise just knew him too well and was more than happy to call him out on his shit and Draco was too much of a professional adult to let someone else point out his flaws for him. Hermione did enough of that already. With all the best interests in her heart of course, but still that didn’t make it any less annoying. A knock at the office door interrupted Draco’s musings and he looked up to see his secretary peeking her head around the door tentatively. Draco scowled; he made it very clear that unless someone was dying, he didn’t like to be bothered when he was working on cases in his office. So someone better be fucking dying.

 

            “Yes Melanie, what is it?”

 

            “Mister Rutherford has uh…well he has…”

 

            “Melanie, please. If Mister Rutherford is dying, odds are he’s already dead because you’re taking so long to tell me.” Draco knew he shouldn’t be so snappy with his staff, but it was quickly turning into one of those days, so he supposed it couldn't be helped. Melanie flushed bright red and Draco made a mental note to apologize for being an absolute prick later.

 

            “I’m sorry, Sir. Mister Rutherford isn’t dying he’s just…his hands seem to have turning into watermelons?”

 

            Draco blinked several times, unsure for a moment if he’s heard the girl right.

 

            “Well by all means, lead the way.” Maybe today can turn around after all—at least if nothing else, Draco’s hands aren’t currently watermelons.

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            “Al where’s that report I asked you for?” Harry doesn’t bother looking up from the stack of papers in front of him as Allie enters the office. He’s worked with her long enough to recognize the sound of her light footsteps by now.

 

            “I gave it to you yesterday, Boss.”

 

            “No you didn’t.”

 

            “Yes. I. Did.”

 

            “Al, I know where all my paperwork is. If you had turned in that report, I think I’d know where it—” Harry doesn’t have time to finish his sentence as Allie grabs a thick packet of papers from the bottom of the paper mountain on his desk and throws it at his face, hitting him squarely in the nose. “I stand corrected,” Harry mumbles, rubbing his nose where he’s pretty sure he now has a paper cut. “Sorry Al, I don’t know how this paperwork got away from me so quickly.”

 

            Allie smirks, flopping herself down onto the office couch with ease and agility only a tiny auror could muster. “You know Boss, if you asked for some help with those case reports you might have one less mountain on your desk.”

 

            Harry sighs. He and Allie have had this argument a million times and it always ends with neither one of them being willing to fold. Every time. “Allie, you know it’s easier for me if I handle all the final reports. You guys write yours up and I summarize and review them before sending them up Robards at the head of the department. I know how he likes things written and it saves everyone editing time and Robards an opportunity to bitch. It’s not that big a deal.”

 

            “It’s a big deal when you look like you’re trying to recreate Mount Everest on your desk, Potter. For the love of god its already five let me help you!” Before Harry can protest, Allie has sprung up from the couch and grabbed a sizeable chunk of paperwork from off his desk. She then settles herself on the floor and begins to work. The two work in silence for half an hour before Harry tosses a bottle of whiskey onto the floor.

 

            “Here. If you’re going to torture yourself unnecessarily at least have a drink while you’re at it.”

 

            Allie takes a large swig from the bottle gratefully. “You always drink in your office Boss? I didn’t think we were allowed.”

 

            “If I’m gonna stay late to finish paperwork I’m going to bloody well have a drink with me.”

 

 

            Allie passes the bottle back to Harry and he takes a large sip himself, enjoying the feeling of the liquid burning down his throat. “Maybe you’re not as crazy as I thought you were Boss.” Harry laughs.

 

            “I have my moments but I at least know when I need a good drink.” He and Allie work in silence once again, passing the bottle back and forth between them as they tackle one case report at a time. By the time the bottle is empty, all the paperwork is sealed and completed and it’s eight o’clock in the evening. “Sorry if I’ve kept you from any big plans, Al.” Harry mumbles as he stands up and stretches out his stiff muscles.

 

            Allie snorts, laying down on the floor and staring up at the office ceiling. “Nah, no plans tonight Boss. You saved me from a night home alone looking at pets up for adoption in the Prophet. By the way, don’t think I didn’t notice you leave my party early Potter. I many have been drunk but my skills of observation were still on point.” Harry coughed loudly. Okay, okay, maybe like 70 percent but for as much as I drank that’s still pretty good and you’re avoiding the question Mister.”

 

            “Ron was having a marriage emergency and needed my help. I swear it wasn’t planned but I stayed longer than I usually do so you should be happy.”

 

            “Oh, I’m happy don’t worry about that,” Allie said smirking. “I’m happy because I haven’t seen you dance with anyone before and I _certainly_ haven’t seen you snog the daylights out of someone like you did to that very lucky gentleman that evening. So are you going to tell me who the lucky bastard is?”

 

            Harry felt the blood rushing to his face, betraying his attempt at remaining aloof. “No one Al, he was no one.” Allie cackled and Harry was very glad that no one else was in the office besides them in that moment.

 

            “Harry bloody Potter you know you can’t lie to me, especially not when we both know the truth. And we both know I’ll figure out who this mystery man of yours is sooner or later so why don’t we both save each other the time and you just tell me who he is?”

 

            “He…he was someone I knew and just happened to run into.”

 

            “Potter, give me a name or I swear to god you will not get a moment of peace for the next three weeks. I will set up camp in your flat and you will not get rid of me.”

 

            Harry knew Allie well enough to know that this wasn’t an empty threat and that if he wanted to get any sleep for the foreseeable future, he was going to have to tell her the truth. “Alright, alright I’ll tell you,” he admitted in defeat, ignoring Allie’s whoop of glee. “But you can’t tell anyone Al, you have to promise. No one else can know about this.”

 

            “Boss, you know how many things I handle with you at work that I’m not allowed to tell anyone else? I think I can handle this.”

 

            Harry sighed. “I’m not sloshed enough for this. Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

 

 

            Allie jumped up and down in ecstasy. “C’mon Boss, let’s go! It’s pub night and we both have enough unused sick time at our disposal that we’re not holding back. We are going to get fucking DRUNK!”

 

            Harry groaned, already being dragged along by the force of nature that was Allie. “Allie we are not taking off work tomorrow just so we can get wasted tonight…” Harry might as well have been speaking Portuguese for all the mind Allie was paying him as she continued to drag him out of the Ministry and down the streets of London.

 

            “Shush Boss, you gave up all remnants of control the moment you told me I was buying you a drink. Just sit back and enjoy the ride!”

 

            “This isn’t a ride Al!!!! We have a case to work on tomorrow, that werewolf pack in Dublin is completely out of control and without our help—”

 

            “The world will still be intact and continue spinning on its’ axis tomorrow even if the great Harry Potter takes a sick day from work. Honestly boss, you act like the department would fall apart without you…you know you’ve trained all of us yourself, right? We can handle twenty-four hours without you.”

            “I know that but—”

 

            “No buts. You and I are going out tonight. We are getting you drunk. You are going to tell me everything about your mystery man and when you can barely think straight, I’ll take you home, put you to bed and leave three hangover potions on your bedside table so that you’ll only spend half of your day off tomorrow in pain and regret. And I won’t hear another word on the subject,” Allie snapped, cutting Harry off as he opened his mouth to protest again. In that moment, Allie looked so scarily like Hermione when she was about to smack the back of his and Ron’s heads for doing something dumb they had known better than to do in the first place, Harry thought it best if he just stayed quiet and let Allie have her way.

 

            Allie opened the door to the pub and ushered Harry inside into the warmth. They made their way to the bar and grabbed seats towards the end of the row where they usually sat whenever they came in for a drink after work. The bartended nodded towards them and started their drinks before either Allie or Harry could open their mouths.

 

            “Okay Potter,” Allie said taking a large swig from her glass, “enough dodging. Tell me who this mysterious bloke of yours is.”

 

            Harry took a sip from his own tumbler, glad that the bartender had given him whiskey instead of beer tonight. He was going to need the liquid courage if he wanted to make it out of this conversation in one piece. “Draco Malfoy. That’s who I was with at your party. He came up to me, I don’t think he even realized who I was at first but when he did we started dancing. We had a few drinks and talked, we kissed, and I left.” Harry might as well have said he had just hooked up with Viktor Krum while riding on the back of a Hungarian Horntail with the reaction his statement received from Allie. She squealed, went to hug Harry, missed spectacularly, and toppled off her stool onto the bar floor. Harry bent down to scoop the petite woman up off the floor, brushing her off and helping Allie back into her seat.

 

            “You and Malfoy,” Allie was saying, as if she hadn’t just fallen off her chair into a heap on the floor. “I knew it, I _knew_ it! You two have fancied each other for years, it was only a matter of time before you two finally got your heads out of your arses and started talking again. So you’ve seen him since my party, right? Please tell me you’ve seen him since my party.”

 

            Harry put his hand on Allie’s shoulder, trying to calm her down. “Al, relax. People are starting to stare.”

 

            “To hell with other people! You and Draco fucking MALFOY are finally getting together. It’s perfect. Can I plan your wedding? I mean, I’m sure Draco knows what he’s doing but let’s be honest Boss, you’re hopeless when it comes to that kind of stuff and if we let you pick the flowers, we’re going to end up with colors that completely clash with the overall color scheme for the wedding and we can’t have that—”

 

            Allie was cut off as Harry put his hand over her mouth, effectively stopping the stream of words that had been excitedly tumbling out of her. Allie glared at her friend but stopped trying to speak. “Allie, relax. It was one night; we’re not getting married for Merlin’s sake. We met for lunch yesterday to talk and we decided we’ll try to do more until the end of the month, sort of a trial run to see if we like being a couple. Then at the end of the trial run, we can sit down and talk about how we feel things are going and we can either decide to keep being…more or we can go our separate ways, no hard feelings.” Allie stared at Harry as if she had never seen him before.

 

            “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of in my life. You really think in two weeks you’ll decide you don’t want to be together? That’s ridiculous! Harry you guys are crazy about each other. In two weeks you won’t want anyone but him in your life.”

 

            “While I highly doubt that, this isn’t just about me Al. Draco could easily decide he doesn’t want to be with me at the end of our time together.”

 

            Allie snorted into her drink. “Bullocks. Anyone who thinks that after spending time with you is dumber than a flubberworm. But even so,” she continued, cutting Harry off as he opened his mouth to interject. “We just have to make sure you win him over so much that leaving you at the end of the month isn’t even an option.”

 

            “How? Allie, I don’t even know how to imagine ‘more.’ I’ve never done more, I don’t _do_ more!”

 

            “Luckily for you, my dear, you’re speaking with the queen of _more_.” Allie motioned for the bartender to bring another round of drinks their way. “Trust me Boss, when we’re done working together, Draco Malfoy won’t know what hit him. Now c’mon, we have planning to do!”

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**Well there ya go! I tried to make this one longer since it took me a little bit more time to update that the last couple chapters. Finals have been making tings a little difficult to juggle. I hope the extra content makes up for the delay and that you enjoy where this story is going! I’m really enjoying writing it. As always, comments, kudos, and suggestions and read, welcomed, replied to, and loved. Sending hugs and good vibes your way my loves! Molly**

           

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**Hey guys! So coming up to maybe the halfway point of the story? Like 20 chapters in…so there’s still more to go for sure please don’t get bored of me haha! As always, so many thanks to those commenting, leaving kudos, etc. You guys are the best!**

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            “I’m sorry, you’re doing _what_ with _who_?”

            Draco rubs his temples, already feeling an immense headache coming on. “Pansy, for the last time Harry and I are a couple…sort of. For now at least. It’s not that big of a—”

            “Draco Malfoy don’t you dare tell me this isn’t a big deal!” Pansy pulls herself up to her full height (seriously aided by her 8-inch heels) and places both of her hands on her hips. Draco has seen this look before, it’s the look that tells him he’s not going to get out of this conversation without needing a strong drink and a potion for migraines. Pansy can be so infuriating. “Are you even paying attention?” His friend’s voice cuts through Draco’s thoughts, bringing him painfully back to the present. He really needs to talk to Melanie about not letting Pansy see him at work even when she claims it’s an emergency. This headache could have waited until his shift was over.

            “Yes Pans, I’m riveted. Hanging onto every word.”

            “Good. Then you agree with me.”

            “Of course, without a doubt.”

            “Good then I expect you and Potter at my residence at seven this Friday night.”

            “That should be—wait what?”

            Pansy rolls her eyes dramatically, fishing through her enormous handbag for her lipstick. “Honestly Draco, for a job that requires such high levels of concentration, one would think I wouldn’t have to explain myself to you twice. This Friday you and Potter will be joining me for dinner at my home. If you’re lucky I can pull Blaise away from the Missus long enough so that he can join us as well.” Pansy checks her makeup in a small compact mirror. Obviously satisfied with her appearance, she snaps the compact shut and turns to exit Draco’s office. “Sorry to leave in such a rush love, but I have a massive dress order coming in this afternoon and if I let Lizzie handle it, I’ll be up to my ears in mistakes. Enjoy the rest of your week darling and don’t even try to get that secretary of yours to change your schedule,” Pansy adds stopping in the doorway. “I happen to know your tricks Draco darling and that means I’ve already given her two tickets to Witch Weekly’s upcoming winter fashion show in exchange for the promise that you’ll be out of here at four on the dot this Friday with zero complications. She really is such a dear, I hope you keep her around.” Blowing a final kiss in his direction, Pansy turns on her heel and flounces gracefully out the door, closing it with a snap behind her.

            Draco’s head hits the desk. Of fucking course Pansy already bribed Melanie to give him the night off on Friday, that’s probably how she can always get around security to come bother him at work in the first place. Between her connections, charm, and sizeable breasts, Draco has no doubt that Pansy could easily get away with murder if she really had a score to settle. Not that murder was really Pansy’s style, of course. She much preferred blackmail and public humiliation that would ultimately benefit her in the long run. Draco felt his headache coming back ten-fold and rummaged through his desk drawer for a pain-killer potion. Unstopping the bottle with his wand, Draco downed the minty liquid in a single gulp, feeling a pleasant sense of relief in his temples as the pressure in his head diminished. He turned to face the next problem at hand—the proposed dinner with Pansy and Harry on Friday.

            If he was lucky, Harry would have too much to do at work and wouldn’t be able to make it on Friday night but knowing Pansy the way he did, something told Draco she had already thought of that loophole and planned accordingly. Draco wasn’t entirely sure how one bribes the auror department to give their star worker the night off, but if anyone could figure out how to accomplish such a feat, it would undoubtedly be Pansy. No matter which way Draco looked at it, the only way he and Harry were getting out of this dinner was if one of them lost a limb in an unplanned accident. Sadly, Draco preferred all of his limbs intact so that wasn’t really a viable option for him either and having all attached limbs in place was probably also preferred in Harry’s line of work.

            Draco was interrupted by a knock on his door. He bit his lip in frustration; if this was Melanie about some patient who had turned into another melon he was going to have a serious word with her about what maladies were important enough to interrupt the end of his lunch break. Melanie seemed to understand the potential predicament she was in by the way she rushed to speak before Draco could open his mouth.

            “Mister Malfoy, I’m so sorry to interrupt but there’s, there’s…there’s a delivery for you.”

Draco stared at her dumbly. “Sorry, there’s a what?”

            “A delivery Mister Malfoy. For you.”

            Draco still has no reply and stares with his mouth agape as his assistant carries in a large vase of black roses. The vase is so packed that Draco can’t see his assistant’s face behind the array of stems, leaves, and petals. Melanie places the vase carefully on Draco’s desk and stares open-mouthed at the floral arrangement. Draco makes no comment because he’s pretty sure he’s lost his voice.

            “There’s a card too,” Melanie mentions, breaking the silence. She hands a small, silver envelope to Draco and goes back to staring at Draco’s desk.

            Draco is finally able to shake himself back to reality and looks up at the girl standing in front of him. “Thank you Melanie, that will be all. I’ll be out shortly for afternoon rounds.” Melanie recognizes the dismissal and hurries out o the office, closing the door quietly behind her. Draco looks down at the envelope in his hand. His name is name is scrawled across the front of it in a messy print Draco would recognize anywhere. Harry sent these. Carefully opening the seal on the back of the envelope, Draco pulls a small card out and begins to read:

           

_Draco—we decided on ‘more’ so I thought this might help show you that I meant it when I said I would do my part in bringing that to our relationship. These made me think of you and I thought the might look nice on your desk or in your flat (not that I’ve been there but I asked Hermione for color suggestions just to be safe). I’m hoping that maybe we can do dinner tomorrow night? My place. I’ll cook. Owl me with a response when you can._

_Harry_

_P.S. Parkinson already owled me and Allie and informed us both that you and I are attending dinner at her place Friday and that not coming will be a punishable offense. I just wanted you to know that next time a simple invitation will suffice. Frankly, the idea of Pansy Parkinson hunting me down scares me more than half the cases I’m tackling at work._

            Draco laughed aloud as he read the letter from Harry over again. Of course Pansy would have already invited Potter to dinner and of course she would have told Allie about it so that there was no possible way Harry would be able to get out of going Friday night. Draco was stupid for having ever doubted that Pansy didn’t have a full plan already set in motion when she showed up at his office earlier. He leaned down and ran his fingers over the inky flower petals. Harry was right; these would look wonderful in his kitchen or anywhere else in his flat. Draco would certainly keep them in his office, but he was a stickler for neatness and the vase would completely interrupt the way he liked to organize his papers, files, pens, quills, and other work necessities. Draco wasn’t sure how Harry had managed to find living black roses, but he had to admit that Potter had outdone himself in this gesture.

            Turning back to the more important matter at hand, Draco ran through tomorrow’s schedule in his mind. He usually stayed later than most other healers to work on finalizing patient charts and checking in on all those in his care before going home. Draco of course didn’t need to do this but as he didn’t have a spouse or family waiting at home for him, he hardly saw the point in rushing home to have dinner alone with his cat. Melanie was always begging him to leave early and “go have some fun for once” and his superiors had shared the same sentiment with him many times before so, as long as no life-altering emergencies came in Draco saw no reason as to why he couldn’t go to Harry’s for dinner. It would certainly be interesting to see what the Chosen One would be able to make.

While Draco really couldn’t see Potter cooking, he also hoped he wouldn’t have made the suggestion if he wasn’t capable of at least making something edible. It was Tuesday, so if he saw Potter tomorrow night they’d still have a night apart before dinner with Pansy Friday. Two dinner dates in one week…was that too much, too soon? Draco shook himself before his mind could wander down the dark, ominous path of overthinking things. Harry knew about the dinner date Friday so he obviously wouldn’t have invited him over for dinner tomorrow night if he thought two nights in one week was too much…after all they were a couple now…right? Isn’t dinner together what couples did?

            Checking his watch, Draco realized he had about five minutes before he was needed back on the floor. Making a decision, he grabbed a quill and some parchment from his desk and began to write:

 

            _Dear Harry,_

_Tomorrow night for dinner would work well for me. What time would you like me to arrive and what kind of wine should I bring? You’ll have to send me an address of sorts so I can apparate or let me know if I can floo to your flat. Either is fine with me._

_I look forward to hearing from you._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

_P.S. The flowers were perfect—Hermione picked her colors well. And they certainly fit the requirement of…more. Thank you._

            Draco reread his note, hoping it didn’t sound unappreciative but also not like he was suddenly all hearts and flowers either. Draco Malfoy didn’t do hearts and flowers. But up until a few days ago, Draco Malfoy also didn’t do “more” either. Trying not to focus on that too much, Draco whistled and held out his arm as his owl fluttered over from her perch to join him. Once he note was sent, Draco rose from his desk and stretched, groaning slightly. It may only be one o’clock in the afternoon, but enough strange things had already happened today and Draco desperately wished he could go home. Maybe he should start taking more time off. Leaving that hopeful thought hanging overhead, Draco pulled his charts out and left his office, mentally preparing for whatever the rest of the day had to throw at him.

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Harry was glad that he and his team had plenty of fieldwork to keep them busy today; otherwise he would have spent the entire morning waiting anxiously for Draco’s owl. Even after the flowers had been sent, Harry worried that he had trusted Allie’s feminine wisdom a little _too_ much. After all, he hadn’t seen Draco since they had declared themselves as temporarily “more,” what if the flowers were too much? What if they came off too strong or sent the wrong message? What if they scared Draco off? Upon expressing these concerns, Allie had promptly smacked him upside the head and demanded they get back to phase two of their plan. That was the part where Harry planned a romantic evening at his place for Draco…if Draco accepted his invitation, that was. They established a reasonable plan and as promised, Allie left him very drunk with three hangover potions next to his bed. Much to Allie’s chagrin however, her plan only partially worked because, still slightly sick and dizzy, Harry had shown up to work at promptly eight AM as per usual.

            “Really boss, _really_ ,” she had quipped when she saw Harry’s disheveled form hunched over a cup of coffee, “you couldn’t just stay in bed and wait for your lover’s response?!? You couldn’t take one day off from the office!?”

            Harry didn’t have the energy to correct her terminology of his and Draco’s relationship so he just groaned and took another swig of coffee.

            “Al, please. Not now. If I stayed home, I’d spend the whole day worrying until I got a response from Draco. At least here I can distract myself and help the team. Now lets go check out the witness in Dublin before it gets much later in the morning.” Allie huffed angrily but for once she didn’t protest and Harry was very grateful for that. Now as he returned to his desk, hair windswept and new information swimming around his mind, he felt at least somewhat more confident in waiting for Draco’s response. Just as he was finishing up a follow-up report to Robards, a tawny owl fluttered through the window, landing right on top of Harry’s report. In that moment, Harry swore his heart started beating out of chest. Almost in a daze, he took the letter and tried to send the owl on its’ way, only to find that it wouldn’t budge. Draco must have asked it to wait for his reply—that had to be a good sign at least, right? Not wasting another moment, Harry ducked out of his office and reemerged a few moments later, dragging Allie by the arm as he did so.

            “Hey what’s the big idea Boss!? I thought we did good this morning, I even kept my interrogation voice in check the whole time—” Allie’s complaint was cut off as Harry tossed the letter at her. She caught it easily and stared down at the unassuming parchment for a few seconds. “You didn’t open it?”

            “I…I can’t Al…I wanted you to be here. What if he didn’t like the flowers? What if they were too much? What if—”

            “What if he loved them so much he wants to jump your bones tonight? I don’t know Potter, but we’re not gonna know unless we open this envelope are we?” Not waiting for Harry’s response, Allie tore open the envelope and tossed it aside, her bright eyes skimming over the words at break-neck speed. Just when Harry was about to ask her to give him some sort of hint regarding what the letter said, Allie gave a whoop of joy and tossed the note to Harry. After fumbling with the paper for a moment, Harry straightened it out and read over the neat, slim handwriting he had come to learn as Draco’s. After he read through the note, he felt the need to reread the message at least twice more to make sure that he hadn’t seriously misunderstood what it said. After the third time reading the note, Harry dared to look up at Allie, who was grinning like she had just won a million galleons.

            “Sorry Potter, what was that you were worried about again? I don’t think I heard you over the sound of Draco fucking Malfoy obviously FALLING IN LOVE with you!!!”

            “He’s not in love with me Al, he just agreed to have dinner with me tomorrow.”

            “And you’re both having dinner with Pansy Friday. Trust me Boss, when Pansy invites you to dinner with _her_ Draco Malfoy, you’re making a good impression. You just have to make sure you don’t go fucking it up. Pansy is many things but forgiving is not one of them. But that’s not important right now—now let’s just not fuck this up while we’re ahead. Respond to Malfoy and we’ll continue planning out phase two of operation “more.”

            Harry almost argued with Allie that they were at work and that it would unprofessional to waste time planning something personal when they were on the clock, but once he thought of Draco coming over to his flat tomorrow evening for dinner, it seemed like the pile of paperwork on his desk could suddenly wait. Using ever fiber of his being to ignore the ridiculous name Allie had give his relationship (or whatever it was) with Draco, Harry nodded. “Okay Al, I’m trusting you. Let’s do this.”

            “Potter, trust me. Your man won’t know what hit him.”

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**Hey guys!!! I’m so sorry for the serious delay in my updates. Grad school interviews, work, personal crap, and school have made the past 2 months a little crazy but I’m back and I’m determined to finish this story. I hope you guys are still interested in following it. As always, kudos, comments, suggestions, etc. are more than welcome and greatly appreciated. Lots of love, Molls.**

           

           

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**Hello my lovelies!!! I can’t believe I’m writing chapter 20…I honestly never thought this story would get this far or that anyone would actually care about it. So I wanted to take a minute to thank you all so so so so much for all the support and suggestions and kudos and comments—there wouldn’t be a story without you guys so thank you. I hope you continue to enjoy.**

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            At six o’clock Wednesday evening, Harry found himself in the kitchen cursing over a bowl of ingredients as he attempted to finish preparing dinner for his date with Draco. He had started about an hour ago and (with no help from Allie, perched on the island counter drinking some wine) was almost positive that cooking lasagna had never been so difficult before.

            “Boss, not to state the obvious but why are you doing all of this by hand?” Allie quipped, refilling her glass for the third time. Harry made a mental note to watch how much she was drinking. Allie could hold her liquor but tonight was not the night to test those limits and have Allie wind up completely inebriated on his couch.

            “Because Al, I think it tastes better when I do it the muggle way. Besides, it usually relaxes me.”

            “You just dropped the spatula for the fifth time.”

            “Usually is the key word here, Allie. I don’t usually cook for someone else and if I do it’s usually for Ron and Hermione.”

            “Yeah…why haven’t you ever cooked for me, Potter? Don’t I deserve a little home-cooked love?”

            Harry sighed, spreading the ricotta and spinach over the noodles in the pan. “When all this is over Al, I will personally invite you over for a home-cooked meal. You can even finish drinking all my wine.” Harry eyed the bottle that was now three-quarters empty and the petite woman who has uncorked said bottle only an hour earlier. Allie laughed, drainer her glass and refilling it just as quickly.

            “Please Boss. I happen to know that this bottle of wine has been sitting neglected in your cabinet for months.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “Because I gave it to you for Christmas LAST YEAR.”

            Harry cleared this throat awkwardly and suddenly seemed very interested in some sort of spot on his ceiling. “You know I don’t like white wine, Al.”

            Allie laughed giddily, hopping off the counter and scooping some cheese out of the bowl and into her mouth. “I know you don’t like white, Potter. Why do you think I gave you a type of alcohol you hate and I love? I knew that one day you’d be cooking dinner for the love of your life and I’d need some wine to help you through the process and so I could sit back and watch the show.”

            “You gave me that wine just so you could drink it?”

            “Oh don’t act so surprised, Potter. You’re impossible to shop for anyway.”

            Before Harry could respond to that particular statement, the large clock above his fireplace began to chime. “Oh shit, is it that late already?” Harry threw the lasagna in the oven and began to throw the dishes he had been using in the sink. “Draco is coming over at seven, it’s six-thirty.” Without waiting for any other request, Allie whipped out her wand and waved it around the kitchen. Suddenly the dishes began cleaning themselves, the salad and bread landed on the table and the candles placed between the place settings lit themselves.

            “Okay Harry I can’t believe I have to remind you of this, but you’re a wizard. You can wave your wand and make things happen. Remember that?”

            Harry opened and shut his mouth several time but seemed unable to form coherent sentences in that moment. Allie rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, leading him toward the bedroom.

            “Come on Romeo. I have to get you dressed and ready and then beat it before Malfoy has any idea how much help you got preparing this whole evening.”

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            “Callie, for the last time that shirt does not match these pants! Have I taught you nothing!?”

            Callie looked up at her master with amber eyes and licked her paw, offering no further comment.

            “Oh so suddenly you have nothing to say? What about that time I matched that striking grey blazer with those black pants, huh? Do you remember what a fuss you made then?”

            Callie looked up from cleaning between her hindquarters and meowed.

            “Oh don’t be all passive aggressive with me! Usually you can’t wait to criticize my outfit and now you’re just full of helpful advice? Do you forget that I am a Slytherin madam? I was born to find false compliments in fashion.”

            Callie blinked several time before standing up on the bed, stretching haughtily, jumped off the bed, and flounced out of the room without another word.

            “Stupid cat,” Draco mumbled, turning back to his closet in desperation. He was supposed to be at Potter’s in an hour and he had no idea what to wear. Choosing to ignore that fact that he had spent the last fifteen minutes arguing with his cat about what to wear on a date, Draco began to rifle through his wardrobe, pulling out almost every piece of clothing before casting aside onto his bed in disgust. Nothing seemed right for this dinner. Either it was too formal and pretentious, too casual as if he didn’t care, or it made no sense to wear on a date. A date. Draco shook his head, running a hand through his already thoroughly mussed hair. Draco Malfoy did hook-ups, meetings that would ultimately result in him getting laid and that would end in him either sneaking out the door of the strangers home the next morning or sneaking off to work with a glass of orange juice and a halfhearted note lying next to the bloke sharing his bed. Draco honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had gone out to dinner (or any meal) with a man where there was no assumption or mutual understanding of sex at the end of the evening. At least…Draco didn’t think there was a mutual understanding of sex at the end of dinner tonight. Did Potter expect sex? Was that his endgame for the evening, to get Draco in bed with him?

            Draco groaned and let his head fall with a loud _thunk_ against his wardrobe door. This worrying was getting him absolutely nowhere. If Potter expected sex, then he would just have to meet that moment when it inevitably came to fruition at the end of the evening. If. _If_ it came to fruition. Either way, Draco knew that couldn’t be his current focus right now. He had forty-five minutes to make himself presentable for his date with Potter and no matter what happened, Draco Malfoy would not allow himself show up for any date looking nothing less than perfect. Taking a deep breath, Draco grabbed a pair of black jeans, a deep blue shirt and a soft, light grey sweater Pansy swore made his eyes look even more silvery. Once he was dressed in a satisfactory manner, Draco made his way to the bathroom to fix his hair. Thirty minutes later, Draco was quite happy with his appearance and had Potter’s address in front of him. Now all that was left was to pick the wine. Potter had said red would be best but that really didn’t help Draco make a final selection; it would have been much more helpful if he had at least told Draco what they’d be eating but Potter said he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Draco snorted, smiling slightly. Only Harry Potter would refuse to give up the details of dinner and leave someone to guess what wine would be the best to bring simply because he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Finally deciding on a vintage red that went well with almost everything, Draco gathered himself and looked around his apartment one last time.

            “I won’t be gone long Cassie, so don’t get into any mischief while I’m away.”

            The withering look he received from his feline companion was enough to send Draco out of his flat without another word.

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            Harry had kicked Allie out twenty minutes ago, and now he was seriously regretting that decision. The house seemed much less ready without Allie’s bubbly presence—the table didn’t seem romantic enough, the food seemed like an overdone example of what everyone cooks for dates, and the clothes that Allie had forced him into seemed much less appropriate now that he was alone. Not for the first time, Harry wished he had a dog or cat so that he at least could talk to someone without seeming like a complete lunatic. More in an attempt to kill time than anything else, Harry dried the dishes in the sink with a quick charm and put them away. The last thing he needed Draco Malfoy to think was that he lived like a slob. Harry grabbed two clean wine glasses from the cabinet and placed them on the island. Resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair—Allie would kill him if he mussed up whatever she had managed to do to it—Harry paced around his kitchen. He knew there was nothing left to do; the lasagna was cooking, everything else was ready and placed appropriately, now all he had to do was wait for Draco. As if some unknown deity had decided to take pity on him, Harry’s doorbell buzzed, almost causing Harry to jump out of his skin. Taking one final deep breath, Harry walking over to the door and threw it open.

            Nobody had to tell Harry that Draco Malfoy was attractive; for fuck’s sake he had been only obsessing about the man for several continuous days. However one look at the man on the other side of his door made Harry suddenly very sure that it should not be legal to look that attractive on a first date. Suddenly Harry’s shirt and non-ripped trousers seemed far to casual in comparison with Draco’s perfectly assembled sweater, button down, and sinfully tight black jeans. Fuck a first date, it shouldn’t be legal for someone to look this attractive EVER.

            “You could say something, Potter. After all, you’re the one who invited me to dinner.”

            Harry wished he could smack himself in the face.

            “Sorry, I was just…it doesn’t matter. Come in, Draco. You find the place alright?”

            “Yes, your directions were quite plain, but I do appreciate your concern. Hermione mentioned you’re not the best when it comes to navigation.”

            Harry was about to make a snappy retort before he saw the glimmer of humor in Draco’s grey eyes. He allowed himself to smile as he led Draco into the kitchen, trying to ignore the way the blonde was obviously taking in every detail of his home.

            “Yeah, Hermione would be right on that account—as usual. But I’m glad I managed to pull through this time. Thank you,” Harry said as Draco handed him an expensive-looking bottle of wine.

            “You said red and while that is an immensely vague wine description, I did my best to pick one that would go with whatever you made.”

            “It looks great, but I don’t know much about wine so you could have brought anything and I wouldn’t have been the wiser. I made lasagna for dinner, I hope that’s alright.”

            “Sounds delicious. I didn’t know you cooked, Harry.”

            Harry laughed, turning to check on the oven as Draco poured them glasses of wine. He accepted his glass gratefully and motioned his guest to follow him into the sitting room.

            “I’ve lived by myself since Ron and Hermione moved in together and even before then if I didn’t cook for Ron when Hermione was out late working, I’m pretty sure he would have starved. Once I moved into my own place it kind of just became second nature.”

            Draco nodded, taking a rather large sip of wine as he did so. While it was only a few moments of silence, it seemed to Harry to stretch on for an eternity. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t know anything about dating anyone and now he could barely make conversation with the attractive man sitting in his apartment. He had to think of something to say…anything to break the silence.

            “So tell me about your work,” he stated, wanting to hit himself in the face for the second time in twenty minutes. Really? Work? Of all the fucking things he could ask Draco about he went with _work_?! Much to Harry’s surprise, instead of looking annoying, Draco only looked slightly bemused.

            “What exactly would you like to know about my work, Harry? You know I’m a healer…what else is there to tell?”

            “Well you’re obviously very passionate about what you do…and I’m sure you tackle some interesting cases. If you didn’t like it, I doubt you would spend so much time at the hospital.”

            “People call me a lot of things Harry, and ‘passionate’ is usually not one of them.”

            Harry snorted, not sure if he was emboldened by the wine in his system or that fact that there was at least no awkward silence filling the room.”

            “Oh please, Draco, that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. Draco, you were the youngest graduate of the top French healer program in three centuries. St. Mungo’s asked you to relocate to London to be one of their head healers—the youngers one there by a long shot. You get tons of top-tier cases and every medical journal in England has been writing about you—even the Prophet has mentioned some of the amazing saves you’ve made. You can’t tell me you’ve pushed yourself this hard for all these years just because…because it seemed fun. I might not work your schedule exactly but if it’s anything like mine, you don’t push yourself and willingly choose not to sleep or have a social life for fun.”

            Harry stopped breathing heavily as he finished his speech. He took a liberal sip of wine and hoped that he hadn’t just made a huge mistake. Several pregnant moments passed and Harry was just about to apologize and ask Draco to forget he’d said anything at all, when Draco spoke.

            “I didn’t realize you had done research on me, Harry.” He smirked and Harry tried to ignore the butterflies that erupted in his stomach from a simple facial expression.

            “Hermione gave me a few tips on where to look. You’re quite elusive, Mister Malfoy.”

            “For obvious reasons I’m sure you can guess, as you, too are rather difficult to find in the news.”

            Harry grimaced. “Not nearly difficult enough, trust me; but we’re not talking about me right now.”

            Draco chuckled lightly. “Fair point, Mister Potter. But you are right, I guess if there was anything someone could call me passionate about, it would be my work. Even before I left for France I knew that I didn’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps and as the political climate continued to go downhill, it became very apparent to me that the only way I would have any chance of reinventing myself and my life was to leave the old one entirely behind. I knew I wanted to be a healer, surrounding circumstances just made it easier to make my decision to apply to a foreign school. I knew I made the right decision the moment I arrived. No one had any preconceived notions about who I was or where I had come from. I was able to separate myself from the war and my family and make a name for myself based on who I was becoming, not who my family once dictated I had to be. When I learned of the outcome of the war and my parents’ involvements, it did little to impact my reputation as a healer trainee. I suppose that reputation made its’ way back to the Ministry eventually because, here I am.” Draco gestured vaguely around him and took another sip of wine, his gaze becoming distant.

            “You had so much going for you in France, yet you came back,” Harry said breaking the silence after a beat. “Why?”

            Draco seemed to come back to his senses and straightened up in his chair. “I knew that I could easily stay in France and be quite comfortable, but to me choosing that path almost seemed like cheating. I had left to prove I wasn’t like my parents and now was the opportunity I had been waiting for. I knew if there was ever even the slightest chance of me separating myself from my family’s legacy, then I had to take this chance. Don’t get me wrong I love my work, I wouldn’t do anything else even if it drives me crazy some days. But it’s nice to feel that I’m at least beginning to make myself known as an individual and not just ‘Draco Malfoy, the death eater heir.’ Does that answer your question Harry?”

            The soft manner in which Draco had spoken his name brought Harry back to his living room and the present moment. During Draco’s story, he had almost felt as if he had been transfixed, imaging just how much Draco must have gone through to get to where he was now—all to prove he was a better man than his father. Harry’s mind strayed back to the way Draco’s silky voice and slid around his name and a blush began to rise in his cheeks. Emerald eyes stared into grey and for a moment, Harry felt like there was something Draco was trying to tell him through his expression. The loud, invasive sound of the oven timer going off shattered the moment, and when Harry looked back to the man sitting across from him, Draco’s face was schooled into a blank mask. Saved from having to reply to his guest’s question, Harry jumped up and ran to get the lasagna out of the oven. He quickly set it on the table and began cutting the dish into portion-sized squares.

            “Everything is ready, if you’d like to come and sit,” Harry called as he placed pieces of lasagna on both his and Draco’s plates. “I hope you’re hungry.”

            Draco got up quietly and made his way over to the table, brushing against his host as he settled into his seat. If Draco noticed the sharp intake of breath his touch caused, he gave no indication; rather he smiled up at the raven-haired man with a look of one who knew a great secret the other person didn’t.

            “Oh yes Harry,” Draco purred, licking his lips as he smirked up at he nervous-looking man, “I’m starved.”

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**OOOOOOOOHHHHHH CLIFF-HANGER. Haha I’m sorry guys I couldn’t resist. I was going to add more but…NAAAAAAH I wanted you to squirm a bit ;) I hope you enjoy anyway. As always, kudos, comments, suggestions, loved, appreciated, and heeded. Now I need to start the next chaper!!!**

**Lots of love**

 

 

 


	21. FILLER

Filler: I’m really sorry and I mean it this time

 

         Hello lovely people! First of all my sincerest apologies for going off the grid…things have been a bit crazy as of late, leading me to not update as faithfully as I had been. Also I can’t find the last chapter I was working on before my hiatus so…oops. But before you get mad at me let me list some things my life has been comprised of:

  * Finishing my undergraduate degree
  * Graduating
  * Last minute applications to grad school
  * Getting into grad school
  * Finding funds for grad school
  * Finding a place to live while attending grad school
  * Moving out of current apartment
  * Working
  * Moving into new apartment
  * Ending a long-term relationship
  * Learning to love me again



So if you can forgive me for the hiatus I’m gonna get back to it now and update hopefully within the next 48 hours. And if I’m lucky I’ll find that chapter I started too!

 

Lots of love!


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 21**

 

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Draco took a sip of his wine, and looked up at the man sitting across from him. “Credit where credit is due, Potter. If you ever quit the aurors you should open an Italian restaurant. People would flock there just to eat this lasagna.”

            Harry laughed and Draco had to take another sip of wine to hide the blush the pleasing sound brought to his face. Draco might want to sleep with Harry Potter, but he was not lying about the lasagna. Potter’s cooking was absolutely amazing and Draco found himself stunned that the Golden Boy actually could cook this well.

            “I don’t usually cook for other people, honestly,” Harry confessed, looking up through his eyelashes. “Ron and Hermione are probably the only other people I’ve ever cooked for. They still give me grief for doing everything without magic though.”

            “The French are much more apt to not whip out their wands for everything,” Draco said. “I actually found that I enjoyed the feeling of cleaning and cooking without magic while I was abroad.”

            If Harry found this surprising he didn’t show it, and Draco was grateful for that. “Well I don’t think I can cook half as well as anyone who’s lived in France. I’ve tried but French cuisine is so complicated I find it stops being fun for me.”

            “Fun? You cook because it’s fun?”

            Harry laughed again and Draco tried to keep from smiling. He failed. “I guess so, yeah. I mean I think it’s relaxing. I have to be so focused at my job and my mind has to be constantly on high alert…it gets exhausting sometimes, honestly. When I cook, it’s kind of like how I feel when I fly. I can just let my mind wander and enjoy doing something just because I like doing it. I don’t have to be on my toes at all times or thinking everything through. I don’t get to do that very much so, yeah, I guess that’s why I want to make sure this stays fun for me.”

            “Who knew the Wizarding World’s Chosen One could have a fun side?”

            Harry snorted, rolling his eyes as he buttered a piece of bread. “Thankfully, there’s a lot the Wizarding World doesn’t know about me. I try to keep it that way at all costs.”

            “How is that possible? No offense,” Draco quickly added, realizing how his question might come across. “I know you don’t look for the attention but you’re the Ministry’s top auror for god’s sake! You take down dark wizards all the time AND you’re single. I can stay out of the papers usually by keeping my head down and doing my job but with you, it doesn’t seem like you’ve ever had that option.”

            Harry sighed and went to pour himself another glass of wine, perhaps to buy time or just because it was really good wine; Draco wasn’t sure. Finally he looked up at Draco and began to answer his question.

            “It helps that Hermione works in the Ministry. After keeping Rita Skeeter in a jar for almost a year to stop her from writing about me, most reporters don’t want to get on her bad side. I know that the papers will cover my job, and I knew that going into the auror department. But there it’s not just me. I’ve trained a good team and they get just as much credit, if not more than I do for the cases we solve and they absolutely deserve that recognition. As for my dating life,” Harry chuckled, “my job makes it difficult to have a full-time relationship and in the past, I haven’t met anyone I really wanted to try to bridge that gap with. So I would usually go out to a muggle club and take a bloke home for the night. We’d go our separate ways in the morning, no strings attached and I’d go on with my life. It’s not the most glamorous existence, but it’s worked.”

            “So what changed?”

            “I’m sorry?”  

            “You just said you didn’t ever really want to try to have a relationship with someone while working in the auror department. That’s why you usually just went with muggles, right? But here we are having dinner at your place and I know I am many things, Potter, but I’m not a muggle. So, what’s changed?”

            “You’re the first person who’s actually cared about me as Harry and not just ‘The Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World.’ You’re not here tonight to get your 15 minutes of fame or sell my secrets to some ratty-ass tabloid. You’re here because you want to be and I know that if you didn’t want to be here you wouldn’t be at all. That’s what’s changed.”

            If Draco had been expected any sort of answer to his question, that certainly wasn’t it. Frankly, he hadn’t really expected Harry to answer the question at all, let alone with such blunt honesty. It was nice, he realized, being able to spend time with someone who he knew was being honest with him; someone who didn’t have a separate agenda or any cards to play. Not many people came into Draco’s life just to enjoy being there, he had done a good job of keeping people at arms length. So to have someone like Harry be so open with him was incredibly refreshing, almost intoxicating.

            “You’re very honest,” was all Draco could come up with to fill the silence. He wanted to kick himself. How could he say something so stupid? That had to be the dumbest thing he had ever said. If Harry thought it was stupid though, he gave no indication. Instead he just smiled like Draco had just shared some inside joke only the two of them knew.

            “I’ve never seen the point in being anything but that. Finished?” He asked, gesturing towards their now empty plates. Draco nodded, unsure where to find his voice in that moment. Harry stood and collected their plates and walked them to the sink, running hot water on them and pouring soap onto a large, green sponge. Draco turned in his seat to watch the other man begin to clean the dinner dishes. With no wand movement or incantation Draco could hear, the leftover lasagna, salad, and bread levitated off the table and floated over towards the kitchen counter. They left their respective pans and bowls and landed in plastic Tupperware containers before floating into the kitchen refrigerator. The now empty dishes joined the dinner plates in the sink and Harry moved to clean them as well. Not bothering to look up as the large dishes slid into the warm, soapy water.  

            It hit Draco in that moment how damn attractive Potter was. Not that he hadn’t been completely convinced of this beforehand, but this was a different form of attractiveness than the leather and over-the-top outfit he had seen Potter in at the party Pansy had dragged him to. This was Potter totally in his element, completely comfortable. While Draco was sure Potter probably didn’t dress in button-downs and overly-clean jeans when he was home by himself, there was something to be said about the way he was completely at ease in his home. The way he worked around the kitchen, the way he interacted with Draco in his living room and at his kitchen table, it was very obvious that for Harry, this was the one place he felt he could be completely himself. Draco wasn’t naïve enough to think that Potter put his guard down for just anyone—it was clear that this was in its’ own way, a gesture of faith and trust in Draco. That Potter was willing to let him into the one place he felt truly at home, it made Draco almost have to stop and catch is breath. He couldn’t remember anyone who had ever put so much faith in him, with no ulterior agenda that benefited them in any way. This was just…trust.

            Almost as if he had no control over his body, Draco found his feet taking him over towards the sink where Potter was still washing the dinner dishes. Sensing he presence of the other man behind him, Potter looked over his shoulder at Draco.

            “Do you need some help?” Draco asked lamely, mentally kicking himself as the words came out of his mouth.

            “I think I have the washing under control, thanks but if you want to start drying, the towel is right over there,” Harry replied, gesturing to a red dish towel draped over one of the kitchen drawer knobs. Draco picked up the indicated towel and started to methodically dry the dishes Potter had already washed. They worked in silence like this for a while until Potter broke the silence.

            “Well that’s all of them. Thanks again for helping Draco, you didn’t have to.”

            “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.”

            If Draco had been actually kicking himself as many times as he wished he could, his shin would have been black and blue by now. Where was his usual wit and charm? Usually Draco was able to hold steady and enticing conversations with anyone he met, but with Potter all the lines came out wrong and everything Draco managed to put out there seemed…lacking somehow. For someone who was used to having a way with words, this did nothing to help boost Draco’s confidence level.

            Harry made his way back to the living room and Draco followed, reoccupying their previous seats in silence. Draco really wished he could pour himself another glass of wine without looking like an alcoholic, maybe then he would at least be able to string words together into a worthwhile sentence. As if reading his thoughts, Harry stood up, walking to the kitchen, and quickly returned with two more glasses of wine. Harry handed one of the glasses to Draco, who accepted it gratefully, taking a rather large sip and wracking his brains for something to say.

            “So,” Harry started, running his hands nervously through his hair.

            Normally Draco would have made fun of Potter’s less-than-eloquent speech, but considering he had nothing better to say himself, he decided against it.

            “So,” he responded, looking around Harry’s flat for any signs of inspiration. “You don’t have any pets?”

            Harry shook his head.

            “Must get it a little lonely sometimes,” Draco mused.

            Harry shrugged. “I suppose it would be nice to have some company around the place, but since Hedwig died, I never really had the desire to have another pet. But I do admit, it would be nice to speak out loud while I’m home without coming off as a complete nutter.” Draco laughed, surprising both himself and Harry at how open and genuine his amusement was.

            “I can understand that completely. Cassie and I argue more than most married couples do. She drives me crazy but the house would be quite dull without her.”

            Harry arched an eyebrow quizzically. “And Cassie is your…?”

            “Cat.”

            “I never took you for an animal person, Draco, let alone a cat person.”

            “Cassie was not planned, believe me, Potter. She needed a home and for whatever reason, she decided to become rather attached to me. I didn’t have much say in the matter after that, frankly.”

            Harry chuckled, finishing his glass of wine and staring into his now empty glass.

            “Well she clearly has good taste,” he murmured, more to himself than to Draco.”

            Draco stared at the man sitting across from him and as Harry looked up, their eyes met. Suddenly without knowing quite how he got there, Draco was standing over Harry. With one quick look to make sure the seated man wasn’t about to yell in protest, Draco swooped down and captured Harry’s mouth in a heated kiss. While he would never admit to it out loud, Draco had been dreaming of snogging the shit out of Potter ever since their last encounter had been so rudely interrupted and while he fantasies were usually rather good, kissing the real Harry Potter put all his fantasies to shame.

            Harry moaned greedily into his mouth and laced his arms around the small of Draco’s back. With a slight tug Draco found himself straddled atop Potter’s lap. Draco growled and deepened the kiss further, biting hard on Harry’s bottom lip and using the other man’s responsive gasp as a way to sneak his tongue into the Chosen One’s mouth. Draco and Harry’s tongues battled for dominance for a few minutes before Harry decided to up the stakes. Without warning he thrust is hips upwards, allowing his growing erection to rub against Draco’s with an almost painful pleasure. Draco growled again and began making his way across Harry’s jawline. Kissing and nipping and biting down he neck and around his ears, whispering dirtily in the other man’s ear the entire time.

            “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you. You look so fucking sexy and you taste so fucking good, it’s unreal.”

            Harry seemed lost for words and only moans in response as Draco’s lips worked back up his jawline to capture his mouth again. He roughly tugged on Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth, loving the sharp yelp that emerged from the other man’s throat. Draco ran his tongue over the Golden Boy’s swollen lip and decided to push their game further. Without warning, Draco grabbed onto the obvious erection in Potter’s pants and squeezed. Harry’s hips bucked forwards of their own accord and Draco growled again as Potter mewled helplessly into his mouth.

            “You like that, don’t you, Harry? Your cock is all swollen and hard isn’t it? You just want to be fucked so you can find some release, hmmm?”

            “Fuck you, Malfoy,” was the breathless response.

            Draco grinned wolfishly. So that’s how Harry wanted to play it, was it? Well, Draco could certainly work with that. Without responding to Harry’s taunt, Draco immediately let go of Harry’s groin and withdrew his mouth from where it had been sucking along his neck. At the loss of contact, Harry gave a pitiful whine and looked up wantonly through thick, dark lashes.

            “See, here’s the deal Potter,” Draco whispered, raising goose bumps along Harry’s neck. “I like to have control over situations, and that includes what we’re doing right now. I can promise you that if you follow my lead, I will fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk right for the next three days.” Harry groaned and thrust his hips upwards again, but Draco moved just far enough away that they didn’t connect with one another. Harry whined. “But if you want to keep up this little power struggle here, I can promise you that you will be very, very, frustrated.” Draco punctuated each of his words with a light stroke up Harry’s thigh. He knew he was going to win this battle, Harry was coming apart at the seams and Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to resist him for much longer. If his past lovers had anything in common, it was their recognition of Draco’s superior foreplay skills.

            Harry waited for a beat before looking up at Draco, his swollen lip caught between his teeth. “Okay, _Sir,_ ” Draco tried to suppress the shiver that went up his spine at the use of that word. “My bedroom is down the hall.” Draco slowly got up from the chair and pulled Harry up with him, nipping at his ear as he did so.

            “That sounds lovely, Harry. Why don’t you lead the way?”

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**OH MY FUCKING GOAT IT’S FINALLY DONE. I’m so sorry for the insane delay guys. Between graduation, moving, starting grad school, the insanity of grad school, finals, and now considering leaving grad school to become a full-time tattoo artist, my life has been a bit insane to say the least. But with finals wrapping up and a nice long break ahead of me, I’m planning to bang out the last of these chapters. Promise the next update will be lots of sexy, smutty goodness.**

**As always, comments, suggestions, etc. are appreciated and loved. Thank you to all those who have been with me from the beginning and for your patience. I hope it was worth the wait.**

**Hugs**

 

 

 

 

 


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